[IC] [Ebonfort] A Profitable Death

[Drache]

Starting Date and Time: Vermillio 25th 288DM

Starting Location: Gaulirax' cell to Luthelia's Balcony in Pyresia

CS URLs: Gaulirax

The summons came for Gaulirax in the form of a heavy booming knock at the door to his room. Little more than a prison cell, the round room had been cut into the dark igneous rock that formed the volcano and its roots for dozens of miles in all directions. Dwarves had made the space somewhat livable by laying the floor with smooth tile and fitting a white crystal chandelier into the ceiling with a small lever that could cut off the sunshine filtering down from the distant world above. Unfortunately for Gaulirax, he was nearly twice as tall as most dwarves and would be forced to stoop his horns somewhat everywhere except the center of the room.

Sparsely furnished, Gaulirax' mistress hadn't seen the need to supply him with anything more than the basics. A bed, a chair, a chamberpot, a trunk to store what few clothes he had, a few harmless training weapons. Not only did Gaulirax not own much, there was no window to his prison home.

Giving the half-dragon mere moments notice, the door opened outwards and two shapes filled the doorway. One was tall, a black-skinned man with a long chain in his hand that he obviously intended to attach to the flat steel collar that was ever around Gaulirax' neck. The other was short, long black beard dangling to his stout knees.

"Look pursentible, lizard. Your Mistress wants ta see ya, though by my rekkining she ain't missin' out on much."

The tall man moved into the room to secure Gaulirax before they hauled him out of his room and into the hall. It was a part of the city not designed for dragons, the passageways all too small for their immense bodies. Glow crystals lined the corridor at large intervals, though the half-dragon's eyes would see easily in the shadowy patches between.

[The Emperors Blade]

The cold walls of his room, the various sets of weights, and only the small book of colorful pictures in the corner were Gaulirax's property, but he cherished all that he had. This day was rather depressing though as he had looked forward to getting out and training, but Rathrid had told him it was not to be. He sighed as he grabbed one of his weights a simple iron ball with a handle weighing around seventy pounds, but just as he did the door swung open revealing two of his Mistress' men. The chain have away what was to take place, as they had no food for him and he knew that he was to be having a meeting with his Mistress as she was the only one to actually leash him.

Standing he willingly let the chain be attached before being led into the hall. Even leashed, without weapons, or armor Gaulirax was an intimidating sight. Powerful, large muscles pressed against scale as if threatening to tear through, his head was held high while his neck flexed against the collar with a slight creak. Small tendrils of smoke wafted from his nostrils. Yes, Gaulirax even in his confined state standing there in nothing, but a loincloth was sight to behold, proud, and powerful wrapped up in a well muscled, deadly form, covered in scales. Lips curled back to reveal the razor sharp teeth that resided within as he gave a lazy yet amused smile, his taloned fingers curling into fists for a moment before unfurling themselves from his palms leaving only slight pinpricks, where tiny droplets of blood formed revealing his aggravation over missing training over what he considered a trivial thing.

Gaulirax after his time training, and his defeat of the Minotaur, had felt a swell of pride that only grew every time he swung his hammer, furthmore he had spent much of his time while training listening to Rathrid recount stories of heroic characters, and even the dwarf's own personal adventures, causing him to yearn to be more than just a simple gladiator. So when the men spoke lightly of him, Gaulirax turned his head slightly. "When you have lived a life under the harsh whip of a sadistic Mistress, or nearly died fighting a minotaur while thousands cheered for you to fall, only to rise the victor. Then you may no my worth. For while I may be a slave, and you may be free at least I am not a sheep." He waited for something to strike him, it was not often a slave would speak like such to anyone, and he understood punishment was more than likely, but he also knew that nothing they would do to him would be comparable to the sharp whacks of Rathrid's wooden sword sinking into scale and muscle. So he waited prepared to follow their lead, or bear the weight of their retribution.

[Drache]

The tall black human yanked on Gaulirax' chain a little, snickering rudely as the trio passed through the glittering tunnels of the Gem Deeps. Many of the huge vaulting caverns still retained an un-worked sort of feeling, not because the dwarves had become lazy or unorganized in their delving, but because long ago they had chosen to let the shape of the sloping tunnels and cave-side stairs follow the natural shapes of the massive geodes and shiny seams of gems. Many were simple quartz in a variety of colours, the druzy worthless when mined but astonishing to behold.

"Then yer a DEAF slave. I called yer a lizard, norra sheep!" The dwarf struck Gaul across his tail with a square mace, purposefully picking a spot that wasn't vital but would hurt like hell.

Upon passing certain tunnels that sloped outwards towards the surface, the warm salty breeze from the sea blustered in, leaving moisture on the worked stone around them to feed moss and shrooms that glimmered with their own light. Other times, the faint breath of wind was earthy and faintly perfumed like the jungle all around the base of the Ash Peak.

But Gaulirax would not feast his eyes on the outside world for over an hour. It took that long to trek up the inside of the volcano, through the subterranean city that was just as strange and beautiful as what lay on the outside, just in different ways. Eventually the tunnels grew much wider and even more ornate, with carvings on every surface. While the dwarves prefered logical, geometric designs, the architecture and artwork near the balconies was meant for a different audience. Here the carvings and gem-studded mosaics were more organic in design, insinuating various wildscapes and depicting dragon silhouettes.

Here, the massive scaled masters of the peak strolled through the expansive corridors, their deep tones growling through the shadows. Dragon faces of every colour turned to peer briefly as Gaulirax was marched by on the end of his leash. Most concealed their reactions well, but some sneered openly, and the half-breed would hear the word 's'karawtem', which meant mongrel.

They passed huge doors that lead to the dragon's individual chambers. Many had an attendant stationed outside, and it was not uncommon for any one dragon to have a household staff similar to lord and ladies the world over, be they employees, servants, or slaves purchased outside the city. The huge metal-reinforced stone doors were meant to imply power and wealth. At the apex of the engraved frame, a stylized lightning bolt identified the owner as one of the Shochra clan.

A female dwarf stationed at the doors sqaured her stocky shoulders and challenged the black-bearded dwarf in their native tongue, eyeing Gaulirax suspiciously. The dwarf replied arrogantly, jerking his thumb at the dragonkin over his shoulder. The female dwarf scowled and set her hands on her hips for a moment, but then moved to the side to let them pass.

The tunnel beyond the doors sloped ever upwards, lit with slow-burning oil lanterns. The black basalt corridor opened up into a large kidney-shaped cavern. One end a pair of doors similar to the underground entrance were open inwards, revealing a balcony and the blackness of the night sky. Much of the room was decorated by a seam of blue-white crystals lining the wall and ceiling. It had been incorporated into a carving of a huge Shochra diving out of roiling stormclouds at a tiny three-masted ship.

And in the center of the room a blue-scaled figure reclined lazily on her side like a smug cat, speaking pleasantly with a rather business-like red-bearded dwarf. As far as dragons went, Keraunilath was not a beauty. Her dark blue scales faded to a rather matte black along her spine. Her wing membranes were a rather colourless gray with several tatters in the edges. She had the slender neck and tail that was considered 'feminine' in her kind, but her limbs in general were rather knobby rather than gracefully curving. Her black horns tilted towards each other at their tips, and her face was bony. Turning towards the newly-arrived trio, the mere motion of her snout caused her company to stop speaking. There was a scent in the air like ozone after a heavy summer thunderstorm. She lifted a wing slowly, making room for a slender tan-skinned human girl who was scrubbing at her scales with a stiff bristle-brush. The young woman glanced shyly at Gaulirax before resuming her work. She was dressed in almost as little as the dragonkin, her chest and groin covered by scanty blue silk.

"Ah. My fiesty little pit fighter. You look like a sow ready for the slaughter. At least now I know why Rathrid keeps asking for more food for you. Come, join us. It's been too long since we last spoke."

She sniffed haughtily and tapped the stone floor near her with an imperious claw. The black-skinned man unfastened the chain from Gaulirax' collar and shoved him forwards.

[The Emperors Blade]

Walking through the corridors Gaulirax felt uneasy going the way he was. It wasn’t often he left the slave quarters. He watched the glowing crystals pass by, his breath staying at a steady rate, while he stared straight ahead. Then the dwarf’s mouth opened, and just as Gaulirax was going to retort a sharp pain went through his back like lightning. He stumbled to a knee for a moment before standing up, snapping his jaws shut as he did so, not wanting to give the guard the satisfaction of hear him give sound to the pain. As they began travelling again he made sure to not make a noise, keeping to himself as he let his thoughts wander to the previous arena match he had. He remembered the heat of the battle, the way his muscles burned as he fought such a feverish and powerful opponent that was the minotaur. His muscular form bunches up as every tendon tenses as if at any moment that very minotaur may very rise up from the abyss in the very hall he walked, and force him to face the beast again.

Deeper thoughts took him as time progressed and they still walked, the weight of the chain and collar completely absent from his mind as it wandered to the thoughts of seeing his Mistress for the first time in several months, and even then it was only glances, and seeing her in the stands in the Arena. Some smoke came from his nostrils as they moved into larger areas, the hall widening and he looked to the elaborately carved, jeweled illustrations on the wall. He was amazed as always by the intricate markings and the way they had been crafted, but it only succeeded in reminding him how alone he really was. He was truly cut off from the world at large, he got to smell sweat, and stone, but only once in awhile did he see the sky open and free, did he smell the salt on the air. Inwardly Gaulirax sighed at the thoughts that ran rampant through his head, He considered how he was trapped in this place to be used as a pawn to gain his Mistress coin, and treasures, how he was nothing but a ticket to wealth and fame. New thoughts arose though, thoughts that empowered him, thoughts of how he would one day break free of his bonds, one day he would be out there and prove to the world that Gaulirax was a hero, a paragon.

Then they were at a door and he stared at the two dwarves as they made their exchange, and the door swung open. He stepped inside with them his body demeanor never changing even as his taloned feet clacked across the smooth surface of the floor. Then there she was, his Mistress. It had been a while since he had been this close to her, seen her face to face. He took a deep breath and looked her over, she hadn’t grown any more attractive over the years, and deep inside he could only consider her one of the most wicked beings he had ever met, though Gaulirax was biased considering his current position. When her wing lifted his eyes went straight to the young woman who was doing what he had done so many years ago, and when she looked at him he felt a surge of happiness, something he had not felt in a very long time. Her words bothered him a bit deep inside, it seemed almost as if she was taunting him, like he was nothing more than meat. As he was pushed he continued with the movement stepping slowly across the ground barely phased by the shoved as he got near the Dragoness before him.

SLowly Gaulirax went to his knees, his palms being placed on the floor as he leaned forward puttin ghis snout to the solid stone beneath him. “I have come as ordered Mistress. I Gaulirax am ready to serve however my Mistress deems fit.” He did the motions, he spoke the words, but he didn’t really feel them. He knew one way or another this life of servitude was temporary, he would either be free, or he would die.

[Drache]

Keraunilath watched closely as her red-scaled slave knelt before her as he had been trained to do. It pleased her to belittle him, to constantly remind him that he was nothing but a half-breed. To her, Gaulirax was a stunted, misshapen thing that should have been cast out to die the moment he was born. Worse than that, the deep blue she-drake sneered with disgust at the very thought of a dragon lowering themselves to shape-shift and fuck a biped. It was sickening, and Keraunilath was not shy about making her aversion known to Gaulirax.

"Like a dog on a chain and just as dumb. You can lick the floor while you're down there and clean some of the grime you tracked in from the Deeps." Her scaled throat bobbed in a silent chuckle as she shifted, forcing the un-named slave girl to hold on to her spines tightly to avoid being thrown off.

"Watch where you're grabbing!" Keraunilath snapped, twisting her neck around to glare at the girl, who kept her face averted and trembled at the loud, hissing voice spitting at her in common.

The red-headed dwarf said something in his native tongue, succesfully distracting Gaulirax' mistress from tormenting the girl any further, though it brought her back to the dragonkin.

"Ah yes. Gurwik here is one of the organizers on the Arena Committee. He has taken an interest in your future, Gaulirax. I suppose I should congratulate you on your recent successes. You've come a lot further than I ever expected, though I'm sure that is mainly due to Rathrid. Whether it's a mongrel or a stone, trust a dwarf to be the only one who can carve something useful out of it."

The slave girl had abandoned her brush, letting it fall to the tiled floor with a clatter, using a chamoise cloth to polish Keraunilath's spines. It was a fruitless excercise, however, because the dragoness' scales were naturally dull and would never glimmer. Something the girl would be punished for later, no doubt. Even so, the girl glanced at Gaulirax now and then, a sad look in her eyes.

"Yes, red dragonkin very unusual. Many fans. Much money and fame if he allowed to fight in the Games." The dwarf's command of draconic wasn't perfect, but his message was clear. And if it wasn't, Keraunilath would expound on it in a moment.

"Stand up you useless lump. As it turns out, you've actually proven to be good at something. I should have guessed it would be something brainless and callous." Another chuckle at Gaul's expense. "But Gurwik seems to think you might be able to win more, which means Gambling on you might be quite profitable."

The dragoness lifted herself to her feet, shaking her wings out as she towered over everyone else in the room. She strolled lazily over to the open doors that led out onto the balcony and the long drop to the city below. "A pity you don't have wings, slave. Some days I am tempted to set you free. The flight would be short, of course, but the sound of you hitting the bottom would be quite satisfying. For me."

Turning back, "You will fight in the arena, and you will win. You will win and I will profit from your success. You will be useful to me or you will die in the arena. And I will find a way to profit even from your blood on the arena floor."

She was wicked and cruel and arrogant, watching him gleefully.

[The Emperors Blade]

As he expected, Gaulirax was not greeted with warm offerings of approval at his accomplishments, instead he was met with as he expected, distaste, and a passive aggressive response to all that he has done for her. A anger washed over him as his Mistress reprimanded the girl in such a disgusting manner. His head tilting slightly up to watch the scantily clad woman barely hang on, some smoke beginning to rise from his nostrils. When the dwarf spoke Gaulirax listened in confusion, but soon came to understand what words were likely passing to the Mistress. His eyes going back to the large dragoness and narrowing slightly.

Listening intently Gaulirax frowned inwardly at the presumption that his success was not due in part to his own skills and simply that Rathrid had trained him well. He could feel a growl beginning to rise from his chest, but he quickly shoved it aside knowing that nothing good could come from a angry outburst of that nature. His eyes caught onto the girl’s and he focused on them for a moment his chest expanding as he took in a deep breath, seeing the sorrow deep in those beautiful orbs that seemed to turn to him whenever it was possible. He wasn’t sure why, but he wished he could take her away from this place and keep her safe from the oppression of the dragons that ruled over Pyresia, for all the fact that he was half a dragon he hated that half of himself raging inwardly against the draconic heritage, rather he had never been born at all than being born from the loins of such despicable, and haughty beasts.

With easy he stood, his muscles bulging and pressing against his scales as he fought against the urge to take one of the guard’s weapons and shove it into his Mistress’ throat, to end her life, even if it meant losing his own, but he couldn’t do that. No it would mean and end to the lives of any slaves under the ownership of his Mistress and it was not his place to sacrifice their lives along with his simply to exact his revenge. She spoke of his proweess in the arena and he lowered his head slightly staring at the floor as she spoke of him being profitable, and if there was one thing that would make it almost impossible for him to escape his servitude, it would be being valuable.

His head lifted and he stared her in the eyes, something he had never done before, his hands clenching at his sides, his mouth opening to speak, also something he had never done except to obey her commands. There was a fire deep in his heart that was growing with every second he watched her, he knew that he could not serve under her forever, but he would be damned if he would die in the arena for her gain, and never see the world. “I appreciate that you put so much faith in my abilities Mistress, but you will not have to worry about gaining from my blood on the arena sands, as I will never die in the arena. I will be free one day, I will be outside of this mountain… I will make my own destiny.” He didn’t stop staring his eyes looking straight into his Mistress’ knowing that he likely had taken his words too far, but he didn’t regret a one.

[Drache]

Playing with the slave was far too easy for Keraunilath, and even as Gaulirax rose to his mighty muscle-bound height, smoke puffing from his nostrils and a hateful growl in his throat, the silver-eyed Shochra only peeled her lips back in a sneering grin, her uneven fangs glittering with a weird light.

"Oh will you? And how will you do that when you are to spend every waking moment in your tiny cell, worm? I should have thought that after all these years you'd have learned your place." Her voice was sibilant as she closed the distance between them, her shoulders rolling and her neck arched haughtily. She had the appearance of a viper ready to strike, just as pleased by Gaulirax' attempt to rebel as she would have been if he had prostrate himself before her.

"You will die with that collar around your neck, slave. Whether that happens on the sands of the arena or in some place of your choosing, you will die a slave. Any other destiny was lost to you the moment you were born and your slut of a mother let you live." Her tail was lashing angrily behind her, her scales hissing across the polished tile floor. The breeze from the open sky behind her rushed in, causing the various lanterns to sputter ominously.

Keraunilath's throat bobbed again and there was a popping sizzle as white sparks darted in arcs around the scales of her face.

"Let's see how confident you are about your future after a little reminder of who you belong to..." she growled, her thin jaws opening wide. The gathering flickers of white light jolting between her teeth was Gaulirax' only warning before the thunderbolt hit him square in the chest. White-hot pain lanced along his bones, forcing his mighty body to seize and jerk spasmodically as he crumpled to the floor.

Blinding purple-white light strobed and flashed, and the huge chamber filled with that chemical ozone scent and the stench of Gaulirax' charred scales. Keraunilath laughed, a sound that started out strangely high-pitched, tossing her head back and chuckling with vile glee. The slave girl had the presence of mind to slide down from her Mistress' back and cower behind a priceless statue, clasping her hands over her mouth as she watched the torture. Gurwik too shrank away, not entirely sure that the cruel dragoness wouldn't zap him too for the hell of it. The slave collar burned even the half-Ixen, scorching the scales around his neck. It would probably heal eventually, but would be terribly uncomfortable.

"Take him away," the dragoness snapped disgustedly at the dwarf and human who had brought Gaulirax before her, turning from him nearly as soon as her grumbling laughter had faded. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the slave girl.

"Go with him. Make sure his wounds don't fester and keep him...happy."

As a final act of cruel humiliation, the spiteful she-drake opened her wings and let the grayish membranes fill with air, stepping almost lightly out off the balcony and into the night.