[quote=@Odin]
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5fmnYKPHvw[/youtube][/center]

After the altercation, Najla spoke to him but he didn’t answer nor listen, truthfully. She spoke words that she could not possibly comprehend from his perspective, not realizing that she was only making it so that he distrusted her more. Had she not seen how Osman had curled his fists, his cocky walk around Ketill, ‘the savage’, or how he had needlessly called him in merely to insult him? Ketill did not know much about Sawarim culture, that much was true, but he knew that if the roles had been reversed, Osman would have done the same. That he saw himself invincible due to his status was not Ketill’s concern but his own. 

But of course, Najla could not understand this – she too thought herself invincible due to her status, as she had said and shown multiple times before. So, Ketill merely retorted to her when she accused him of telling Osman he raped her. [i]“No, ‘my lady’, he told me I was a rapist. A good slave does not disagree with their superior, is it not?”[/i] Besides that, not much was said, and the guard promptly took Ketill away to the dungeons. He was thrown in without much of a word, the clank of the heavy dungeon door indicating that he had been sentenced – to spend time in the dungeons until they had found a suitable punishment. 

It wasn’t until some days later that they retrieved him, seemingly having found a punishment that would let Osman get some satisfaction. Two guards appeared, and together they pulled Ketill upright from his sleep and forced him through the small sidepassages of the dungeons – not giving Ketill even the pleasure of walking through the palace. Instead, he was forced to a small side door that lead more or less directly to the area where he’d be punished. Ketill was familiar with it – had been there once before when they made him pick weeds there. 

Before they left the tunnels, they reached the door. There was a chair there, with a bucket of water on it. They let go of him and pointed at the water, which Ketill had learned by now meant that he was supposed to drink. Greedily he reached for the bucket, foregoing even the ladle, and pushed his entire head into the water. He knew this would anger the guards, but he was thirsty, and that was a bigger concern to him than a few angry guards that would be forceful with him regardless. While his head was underwater he drank vicariously, before he felt the rough hands of the guards on his shoulder and back, pulling him back out of the bucket. Their angry shouts would be enough to let Ketill know that they were pissed indeed, but they didn’t have much time to beat him into submission as they were expected outside. With a wide swing they swung open the door, leading into a small courtyard with a raised platform of wood, and several wooden poles sticking out of the ground.

They dragged him to one of the poles and, while one held his arms up against the pole, the other tied him tightly to it. They would then step back some distance away and talk among eachother, waiting for everyone to arrive. It took longer than expected, Ketill found, and by the time the first crowd showed up, Ketill’s hair had already dried up. Instead of water, sweat now shone on his forehead. The presence of them did not really have much impact on Ketill, and in fact he seemed to find it rather amusing that he was drawing such a crowd. Osman might’ve been of some status, but he was most certainly not the most important man of the entire sultanate. Yet, so many people came. But when Ketill saw Osman he had to try hard to contain his smile as he looked upon the bruising. He had earned every pore of those bruises. He had a hard time containing his laugh until he saw Najla, which quickly stifled any desire to smile. Now, Ketill looked more angry than anything. She had brought some runt with her – a meagre boy, not soldier material, a scholar perhaps. 

The boy spoke to Najla first, and the way they interacted made it quite clear that they were related – Najla had only ever been this kind when she was with people she was related to as far as Ketill knew. While they talked, Ketill merely stared at Najla, though she was likely too preoccupied with Basim at that point. Then, she turned to him, informing him about his punishment. Twenty-five lashes, she said, which merely caused Ketill to look away from her towards Osman. [i]“It should be more. I didn’t threaten him-”[/i] he said, and then looked back to Najla. [i]“Threats are not intended to harm. They are warnings. I did not warn him – I intended to take his life. If I let him do what he did without repercussions, the Gods would be angry with me. Very angry.”[/i] This would be the first time he mentioned a multitude of gods, not a singular god, to Najla. Perhaps it’d give her reason to pause, but perhaps she wouldn’t notice or blame a mistake in his wording. Regardless, he merely looked at her, not giving her much else in terms of speech. The expression on his face and his eyes would give her more information than he could ever speak to her, however, and she would not have a single doubt about Ketill’s lack of care for the punishment. He had been punished with beatings almost every day when he was Tahir’s slave – this was nothing, now. Perhaps he would have found it objectionable or bothersome during his first year as a slave. But not anymore.

She spoke to him again about not being able to stop much more, but Ketill didn’t reply to anything she said, more so than taking it as a chance to speak in generalities. [i]“You still think you’re in control?”[/i] Momentarily he looked up at the sky, where two ravens flew. They were uncommon in the desert as there was little food for them here, and their presence would most certainly be strange. Perhaps she thought nothing of it, but to Ketill it was an omen – much like a night-owl crossing your path in the day, or a wolf walking past you without seeming alerted or angry, or a bear running away from you. All these things indicated greater things to the Northerners, and to Ketill too. [i]“But it seems greater things have been set in motion today. We will see, [b]Saina[/b], how much you truly control, and how much is beyond your control.”[/i]

Thinking about the omen, he began thinking about what it meant. A single raven was typically a good omen – ravens were smart creatures, gatherers of information and crafty, they were the spies of the Gods, seeing and seeking information for them and being rewarded with intelligence. So if a single raven was present, watching you or circling your position, then typically that meant that they were watching you closely. The reasons for this were plenty, but it was mostly warriors and hunters that took this as a good sign – signs that the gods wanted to see your prowess in battle and in the hunt. 

But two ravens were a bad omen. An omen that spelled only death and disaster – a disaster so big that the gods required two ravens to keep an eye on things, to see all that was to be seen, and even those things that remained hidden, past the understanding of mortal men. But even then, these omens were typically meant for certain people. Ketill was not a diviner – he could not see or sense who this omen was meant for, but his precarious position meant that he would be satisfied with whomever the omen was destined for. He looked back down at Najla, a twisted grin on his face.

Even as she walked away when Osman approached, the whip coiled around his hand as he bowed to Najla and Basim, he continued to look at her, his grin making it seem as if he was insane – and perhaps he was. When Osman walked past, he looked him in the eyes too, studying the mans facial expression and his wounds. Only those paying utmost attention would notice that Ketill’s right eye twitched slightly at the sight of Osman, but once Osman had passed him and stood behind him, Ketill looked forwards again. His eyes passed over those in front of him on the platform – Harith, whom he didn’t recognize, and his wife. A myriad of others, whom he also didn’t recognize. Then, the boy that was seemingly related to Najla. Ketill stared at him momentarily, but promptly looked further. His eyes rested on Najla then, and the grin returned to his face as he saw her standing next to Elif – a second wife, thus in second place. 

It was silent for a moment, not even the sound of dust and sand being swept up in this quiet corner of the courtyard. Although in reality this moment lasted mere seconds, in Ketill’s minds it lasted several minutes. He looked the spectators over a few more times, but always came back to Najla, and every time he saw her, he’d feel something burning in his chest. 

The crack of the whip ultimately broke the silence. When the whip hit his skin, Ketill whinced slightly, closing his eyes but opening them immediately again. [i]No,[/i] he thought, [i]tolerate it. The Gods will reward you more than they already have.[/i] The whip cracked again, and when it hit him, he whinced even less than before. His lips remained straight and he refused to scream in pain, merely staring down Najla. Once again the whip cracked. And again, and again. Blood was slowly beginning to stream down his back, trickling down and dripping onto the sand. It had been so clean and yellow before, but with his blood now staining it, it turned a deep red, the color resembling that of only the most precious velvet.

It seemed that the further along the punishment they got, the harder Osman would strike, and the more rapid his strikes became too. The silence of Ketill only made it seem like he wasn’t trying hard enough, even though Osman was certainly trying harder and harder. Perhaps Ketill had gone mad, as it seemed like the pain didn’t bother him anymore. During the entirety of his punishment, he looked at the spectators – at first he’d merely looked at Najla, but soon enough his eyes had wandered as the pain dulled his senses. No scream, squirm or whine left his mouth, and although he had closed his eyes at first with every hit of the whip, by now he had blocked out the pain physically, not even reacting to it beyond the motions of his body that were beyond his control. His eyes found Elif. Perhaps she would have wished for him to feel pain so that he would show remorse. Perhaps she would’ve liked to see the regret in his eyes for what he had done to her poor husband. She would find [i]none.[/i] Instead, she only found indifference. 

When he saw Basim, he noticed that the boy was uneasy with the violence – though he did good at suppressing it well enough that anyone who was paying attention to the whipping wouldn’t see it. Perhaps the boy had found him interesting at first, it was without a doubt that he’d consider Ketill a freak of nature now. He was merely ‘Bear of Broacien’ before, a nickname given to him by harem girls that only saw his muscular stature and handsome features as well as his ‘exoticness.’ Surely, many people had thought the nickname to be more humorous. Perhaps Basim had learned, now, that there was more to it than that, even if those that called him Bear of Broacien didn’t realize it. A man that did not feel pain was not a man at all.

When the last crack of the whip came, Ketill’s back was so bloody that you could not tell skin from wound. Osman seemed unsatisfied with himself, or with Ketill, but there would be nobody that would say he didn’t get what he wanted. He walked away from the post to the wooden platform, where Elif was waiting for him. Not even a single glance was given to Ketill, and Ketill was unable to tell if this was because Osman feigned disinterest in Ketill, or because he was angry for the punishment not having the effect he wanted to. Regardless, the guards left Ketill hanging there until everyone left. It would not take long, but every minute seemed to last an hour to Ketill, whose back was beyond reparation. He’d be scarred forever – markings of not just battle but also punishment alike would litter his body. 

When everyone had finally left, Ketill was slowly taken down. Even now, when nobody was watching, he didn’t allow himself to collapse. He stood hunched but, still, stood on his own feet. The guards tried to lead him to the healers, but they found that he finally collapsed after merely five steps. It seemed that even a bear that knew no pain could be overexerted. 

Things would have been different if he had been able to defend himself against the strikes of the whip.

[hr]

When he awoke, he awoke in a bed that wasn’t his own. The air was different, too, and smelled of incense and other smells that Ketill didn’t recognize from the slave quarters. When he slowly opened his eyes he found himself laying on his stomach, in a room that was brightly lit. He was able to look out of a nearby balcony, seeing a variety of plants. Contrary to the other plants in the palace, however, these were placed in small pots, and resembled herbs more than plants. 

As he tried to move, he quickly realized where he was and why he was there. From the corner of his eyes he spotted an older man with a long beard, but before he could speak, move or do anything at all, he was forced back into the bed by the excruciating pain on his back. He didn’t have time to remind himself not to give in to the pain, and groaned loudly. This however, did alert the old man, who slowly got up and shuffled towards Ketill, speaking in Sawarimic. The gist of the message was lost on Ketill, who only shut his eyes in pain. 

The old man immediately reached for a needle and some wire, but before he could continue sewing up Ketill’s back, Ketill reached out with his hand and stopped the man. [i]“What are you…”[/i] he said, his voice dull and sleepy from the pain. The man interrupted him and began talking in Sawarimic again, but once he realized that Ketill didn’t understand a word he said, merely showed the needle and thread, and made sewing motions with it. Ketill still didn’t really understand what was going on, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort to try and figure out and simply let go of the mans hand. When the man continued again, the sharp pain of the needle puncturing his skin and sewing him back up where necessary was enough to dull the concerns about where he was and who this man was. After some time, the man was done, and left Ketill alone again, who simply fell asleep again. 

He was woken a few hours later, not by the old man but by a guard. For a moment, Ketill thought he’d be put back to work already, so he slowly got up on the bed and sat up, but then a young man walked in. It was the man he’d seen alongside Najla the day before – her relative. What did this guy want from him, he wondered? Before he could ask, the boy stood next to his guard, who was an imposing man with an unfriendly face. No doubt he was here to dissuade Ketill from harming the boy. [i]“I am Basim al-ibn-Wahad,”[/i] he spoke in Broacienien, with a rather thick accent, while trying to keep his head high. The boy spoke with formal tones, which obviously marked him out as a scholarly speaker of Broacienien, not someone that spoke the language often. Much like Najla had been, perhaps, when she first entered Broacien. Ketill didn’t answer, merely looked at the boy with an unimpressed glance, which seemed to make the boy slightly uncomfortable. He was certainly used to people always looking up to him and respecting him, so for a man like Ketill, an infidel no less, to be so uninterested and uncaring, was perhaps slightly new to him. 

[i]“I… you will not bow your head to me?”[/i]

[i]“No.”[/i]

[i]“… I see. You are not afraid I will tell my guard to force you to do so?”[/i]

Ketill shrugged – it wouldn’t be the first time, and it wasn’t like Ketill could resist it like he normally would given the wounds on his back. He didn’t answer, still looking at the boy with a confused, unimpressed glare.

[i]“And you are not surprised I speak your language?”[/i]

Again, Ketill shrugged. [i]“You are one of the few that speak it, but even Najla speaks it. Actually, even her new husband speaks it. Broken, barely understandable, and like a peasant, but he speaks it.”[/i] Now, Ketill reached for the flask of water standing besides the bed, and raised it to his mouth, drinking from it while maintaining eye contact. When he set it down again he continued. [i]“You sound less like a peasant.”[/i]

[i]“Thank you- I, I mean.. you shouldn’t call your Sultana by her name. And you shouldn’t insult Osman like that, do you want to get whipped again?”[/i]

Ketill grinned then, because the boy asked a question that he couldn’t understand himself. He merely saw the whipping as a punishment – saw it like Ketill was a regular slave who had done something wrong. It seemed like Basim didn’t understand the underlying feelings and grievances that were contained within it. Perhaps that is why he dared to speak to Ketill – even though Osman might have very well seen that as in insult or offensive thing, since Basim was effectively talking to the enemy.  [i]“Do you want to get whipped for speaking to me?”[/i]

[i]“They’d never do such a thing. I’m a prince.”[/i] Again Basim raised his head, although it was clearly visible from the hesitation that he did this not because of arrogance but because he had been raised to do so – proper etiquette for a prince. [i]“Besides, they are telling stories about you in court, so I wanted to see if they were true,”[/i] he quickly added. [i]“Najla says there’s a lot of power in knowledge. So I’m here to gain knowledge.”[/i]

Ketill raised an eyebrow now, both at the notion that Najla said that, and at the notion that people are talking about him. [i]“Well, Najla says and promises a lot of things. Just ask your question, boy, and then get out of here.”[/i] It was quite a daring way to speak to a prince, but who would’ve expected anything other than that from Ketill at this point. He had insulted the sultan to his face, after all, so it seemed already that none would be spared from his words. 

[i]“They say Servants eat children, is that true?”[/i]

[i]“They say Sawarim eat cockroaches, is that true?”[/i]

[i]“C-cockroaches? No! No that is not true at all!”[/i]

[i]“So do you think Servants eat babies?”[/i]

[i]“I, well, …”[/i]

[i]“They do not.”[/i]

[i]“I.. I knew that.”[/i]

[i]“Of course.”[/i]

[i]“So… did it hurt?”[/i]

Now, Ketill raised his eyebrow again, much less at confusion than at stupidity. [i]“If you’re just going to bother me with questions that answer themselves, then you should get back to playing with your brothers and sisters.”[/i] The intonation was clearly one of annoyance, and the guard stepped forwards, putting his hand forwards to ‘put a stop to the conversation’ momentarily. 

<[i]“Is he being abrasive, my prince?”[/i]> the guard asked, as he obviously could not understand Broacienien. 

The prince shook his head, although he had had every reason to answer that Ketill was indeed being slightly rude. <[i]“He’s not from the Sultanate. We cannot expect him to follow our etiquette, can we. Besides… you saw what he did to Osman, you wouldn’t want to try that for yourself, right?”[/i]>

Frowning slightly, the guard lowered his hand and stepped back, returning to his position at the side of the prince. <[i]“No, my lord,”[/i]> he added, before becoming quiet again. 

[i]“Why did you beat Osman?”[/i]

For a moment now, Ketill paused, looking the boy up and down. Although Najla and Osman had told a lie to avoid having to tell people about their precarious situation when Osman got his face beat in, Ketill was not aware of this. Never the less he was aware that they probably hadn’t told the truth. [i]“He wanted to beat me.”[/i]

[i]“That’s his right as your superior,”[/i] Basim answered. Despite his attempts at hiding it, it was evident that he might not have agreed to this sentiment entirely. 

[i]“A caged bear does not sit peacefully while they prod him with sticks, does it?”[/i]

[i]“We do not keep bears here,”[/i] the boy replied, though he knew in his mind that he was wrong, for he was looking at one right this moment. 

Ketill grinned, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. The boy was fast, though it was also quite clear that he was trying very hard to appear formal, serious and royal. He was clearly repressing his childlike urges to ask question after question, though he still managed to ask quite a few of them. [i]“To answer your question, Osman wanted to beat me, that is why he called me into his room late at night, after the feast. He was drunk and kept circling me while insulting me. I simply hit him before he could hit me. That is what a warrior does.”[/i]

[i]“A warrior like Harith?”[/i]

[i]“I don’t know him, but if he is a soldier, then yes. Not like Osman – he parades around like a soldier, sure, but he’s not as strong as he likes to make himself look. If he was, he would’ve demanded to duel me for his honour.”[/i]

[i]“He is a man of status, and you are a slave. If he duelled you, he would’ve lost honour even if he won, because that would mean he acknowledged you as someone with honour. You’re an infidel – you don’t have honour in the Sultanate.”[/i]

[i]“That sounds like something weak people with status have to tell themselves in order to avoid having to take responsibility for their actions.”[/i]

Basim squinted slightly now, looking at Ketill curiously, thinking about what he said. Ketill couldn’t tell if the boy agreed or disagreed, but it didn’t really matter – he didn’t expect the boy to understand anything involving honour or the respect of a warrior. Finally the boy answered, [i]“I’m tired now. Perhaps we will speak later, Daab-al-Broacien.”[/i]

[i]“I doubt it,”[/i] Ketill answered, figuring that as soon as Najla figured out that Basim had visited him, she’d be furious at Ketill and Basim. The boy didn’t reply and walked away, followed by the guard, who shot Ketill an angry look before disappearing around the corner. Not quite sure what to do with the thoughts about the conversation, Ketill merely laid back down in bed again, squirming slightly as the sewed up wounds were still painful, before going back to sleep.

Najla would probably wake him when she needed him - if she needed him at all.

[/quote]