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"While I do love a good worship service," he says as he admires the priests and priestesses he can see going at it (not a total lie, given the nature of the worship), "my friend here's right." He nods at Jade. "We're looking for someone."
Though Aspexia takes the nude priestess aside, Radric manages to hear what she tells her anyway. 'Empowered' isn't the word I'd have used to describe you out there, he thinks to himself.
Kyzrak drifted closer to the priestess, close enough to touch, and stretched suggestively. "What the uplanders are trying to say is, though we offer praise to Secothbenoth, we serve by breaking a taboo this day, if only one held by gladiators. Though we're open to any suggestions as to how to make our doings more perverse! Perhaps you might guide us?"
It was a risk, telling the priestess their intent, but drow who followed Secothbenoth were never too concerned with propriety, and all drow were treacherous anyway. He thought it might please her to do something so underhanded.
He noticed Aspexia separate from the group from the corner of his eye.
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Finishing her whispered conversation with the priestess, Aspexia bows to her, spares a smile for the others from the ludus who have arrived (and a slight frown when she sees Ragnar’s state), and starts to move away. She pauses for a moment when she overhears Nathrae, Lorelei, and Segovax offering themselves so wholeheartedly, turning slightly and looking like she’s about to speak... but then she seems to think better of it, shrugs, and exits the area...
For her part, the priestess listens to those offering themselves with a pleasant smile on her lips, but before responding first kneels to examine Ragnar. After feeling across his body, she looks up at Ivan,
‘He’s in a bad way, but still clings to life... what exactly would you have me do for him? Some services, of course, cost more than others...’
Having accompanied Ivan, young Zandu moves to also speak to the priestess, but she turns to address the others before he has a chance to...
‘You’re a brute, and no mistake...’ she comments to Segovax, running her fingertips (her long nails filed to points and painted gold) across the firm muscles of his chest... and down, her eyes fixed upon his as her fingers examine his... weapon... ‘... many of our devotees here will pay handsomely to feel power over one such as you...’ she steps back and signals to two attendant halfling slaves (both handsome lads, naked except for metal collars fixed round their necks, and cruel-looking jewellery of metal and bone pierced through... various parts of their anatomies...), ‘... have this one bent forwards over a bench and strapped down,’ she instructs them, indicating Segovax. She pauses a moment, eying the half-orc up and down again for a moment, then amends, ‘better make that chained down: some of our devotees like to get rough, and we’d not want any unfortunate accidents...’
Eyes widening, Zandu gulps and quickly takes a few steps backwards, appearing to decide against offering himself to the Silken Sinners...
‘You,’ the priestess glides smoothly over to Lorelei, framing the gladiatrix’s face with her hands, then pulling her forwards to indulge in a long, lingering, kiss. Finally breaking the kiss, the priestess strokes her fingers lovingly through Lorelei’s hair as she stares into her eyes, ‘Such a beauty,’ she comments, ‘and Brother Rann has told me so much about you...’ she steps back and calls out towards one of the chambers leading from the corridor. With a chorus of grumbling and expletives, three grizzled looking bald dwarves with low-arching brows, black beards, ash-grey skin, and eyes that seem to absorb rather than reflect the light, emerge: duergar, dark cousins to Ivan’s people and notorious slavers of the darklands, said to be able to turn themselves invisible, and mystically double their size. The duergar are in a state of semi-dress and no little inebriation, tankards in hand; one is particularly fat and idly gnaws on some sort of charred meat still on the bone. They look at the group, then to the priestess, and the lead one snaps at her,
‘What’s this? You bring us another of our soft cousins to slay?’ he gestures towards Ivan. The priestess shakes her head,
‘Not this time, Slavemaster,’ she replies, ‘that one is for the arena... but here,’ she takes Lorelei by the wrist and moves towards the duergar, ‘you wished some sport with a female of my race? Is she not beautiful?’
‘’sallright...’ mumbles the portly duergar, meat grease smearing his chin and beard as he speaks with his mouth full, spattering bits of food into the air and down himself as he does so. The lead duergar frowns, crossing his arms over his chest,
‘Can we hit her?’ he asks. The priestess beams a smile and bows slightly,
‘Of course,’ she replies, ‘she’ll be yours to do with as you wish... only...’ she trails off. The duergar’s frown deepens,
‘Only what, elf?’
The priestess shrugs apologetically,
‘Only this one is owned... and a gladiatrix too... so any permanent damage... or death... would be costly... you understand?’
The duergar snorts derisively,
‘Fine... nothing permanent...’ he turns to Lorelei then, and gestures towards the chamber they emerged from, ‘Get your skinny @$$ in there, wench,’ he orders, even as he starts to remove his belt, ‘face on the floor... rear in the air...’
Satisfied with the transaction, the priestess moves back to Nathrae,
‘For you,’ she offers, ‘something special...’ she steps across to a group of undulating bodies, slaps a nude collared surface-elf girl hard on the rear, causing her to yelp, and drags her out of the erotic scrum by her ear. Extracted and kneeling before the priestess the elf-girl bows her head in obeisance,
‘Mistress?’ she asks.
‘Prepare a stage,’ the priestess orders, ‘and find the wolf...’
As the elf-slave scurries off, the priestess steps over to listen to Jade and Radric’s requests, seeming unimpressed... until Kyzrak makes his move...
‘My, aren’t you just delicious,’ the priestess coos, tracing her fingers across the drow male’s form, before stepping even closer to him, so that her nude body presses against his. With her long golden fingernails scratching lightly into his chest, she peers up at Kyzrak through her long-lashes, ‘It seems my Lord Socothbenoth rewards his Faithful...’ she remains staring into Kyzrak’s eyes for a few moments, just subtly moving her body against his in a manner that proves extremely... provocative... Smiling, she slips one hand down, between their bodies, to feel below the gladiator’s balteus... ‘I would worship the many-jewelled staff of The Silken Sin with you,’ she purrs, her fingers tightening their grip slightly to emphasize her point, ‘whilst your companions seek their own sins with the man you mention...’
‘Mistress,’ the returning elf slave-girl intones as she kneels by the priestess and bows her head. Hissing her annoyance the priestess steps back from Kyzrak, gently lifts the slave-girl’s chin with one finger... then backhands her hard across the face! Sprawling to the floor, the slave-girl cringes, but responds in a dull monotonous tone,
‘Thank you for taking your pleasure from this one’s suffering, Mistress.’
‘Oh, stop prattling,’ chides the priestess, ‘I take it all is made ready?’
Crawling back into position to kneel and bow before the priestess, the elf-slave replies with a simple,
‘Yes, Mistress.’
The priestess sighs, casts a glance towards Kyzrak,
‘Don’t move,’ she tells him, then turns back to Nathrae, ‘Follow me.’
She escorts Nathrae into one of the better appointed chambers, where numerous high-class looking drow laze around on padded couches or seats, being attended and pleasured by various slaves as they sip fine wines and chatter with each other in seemingly jovial tones. A small raised stone platform covered in silken cushions is situated to one side of the chamber, and the priestess gestures towards this as she says to Nathrae,
‘Get on there... on all fours... and await your partner...’
A few of the drow comment, but most seem happy to ignore Nathrae for the moment... until a muscular, black-furred, wolf pads softly into the chamber and towards the platform... then the drow sit up, and comment delightedly, and even applaud...
The wolf pads over to Nathrae, it’s canine breath of her face as it licks its rough tongue up her cheek...
‘So, the daughter of Flauros offers herself in worship of Socothbenoth? Don’t get me wrong, little girl: I’ll gladly take my pleasure of you, but I do wonder... is The Burning Maw a jealous god..?’
... anyway, Nathrae, Lorelei, and Segovax will get fully healed if they go through with what’s being asked of them (you can still back out at this point...). If Ivan offers similar terms to get Ragnar healed, then he’ll end up in a similar position to Segovax (only with the duergar likely taking a few turns too...). In slightly safer waters, if Kyrzak agrees to attend to the priestess, she’ll let the others know where the guard they’re looking for is. The priestess doesn’t seem too bothered by the hinted at improprieties they plan towards the guard, so there may even be mileage in letting her know exactly what they’re after (of course, telling her that would kinda’ be gambling on how much she really is into our drow male pinup...).
Whatever activities ensue should take an hour or so (at which point the characters will be due to report back to Pharnox anyway), so anyone wanting to take the opportunity to try to learn something about upcoming events (or whatever) can attempt a Diplomacy check to gather information (during said activities... pillow talk or something, I guess...).
As always, characters can still forget the whole thing and go off to do something else instead, if you want...
Nathrae doesn't cringe much when Segovax's... partners step forward. Hey, at least they're not ugly...
But upon remembering how utterly disgusted Lorelei was with Ivan during their coupling makes Nathrae glare at the duergar when Lorelei is offered to them.
When the priestess makes says Nathrae would get something special, and pulled out a buxom elven slave girl, she forgets about the others and grins like a fool. Okay, this isn't too bad...
...until the priestess tells the slave to find a wolf.
Whereupon her grin turns half-circle and her face turns grey. Oh.
She doesn't protest as the priestess leads her away into the posh chamber, but she gets on all fours at her spot reluctantly. ...is the 'wolf' in question a nickname, or...?
Her question is answered when the black-furred mountain of a wolf pads in and makes its way toward her. Her face turns a lighter shade of grey. ...literal. Oh joy.
It's only when the wolf's voice sounds in her head that her fright is replaced somewhat by curiosity. "Only when I'm burning things in someone else's name." She quips quietly, some of her resolve coming back to her. A small part of her brain is utterly sickened by what she's about to do.
You're about to be mounted like a b*$%@; you're a DROW, not an animal! I know. But right now, it's do or die. I'm not fond of the latter.
Though her injuries and what little self-respect she has left give her pause, she throws herself into it, trying to make it adamantly clear that SHE'S f#~+ing the wolf, NOT the other way around.
Throughout her act, she tries to keep her ears open and listen... hopefully, the nobles here had their guard down enough for her to glean something of the upcoming match with House De'lyl's gladiators...
Lorelei's face pales as the priestess drags her by the wrist and offers her to the dark dwarves.
Face on the floor? Well, at least that spares me the unpleasantness of having to look at him during this. I'm starting to think that last night wasn't so bad after all. That and I need to work harder at not getting hurt if this is what I gotta go through to get healed.
Lorelei doesn't even bother trying to hide her look of distaste, but goes ahead and follows the duergar's commands.
Kyrak let the priestess drape herself over him and lead him away once she had pointed out the right grotto to Radric and Jade, despite the warning his companions' (potential) fates had been. The sights of the temple caused even his jaded eyes to widen; it was quite an impressive performance going on around him, all told. Secothbenoth must favor this temple greatly, he thought, tearing his eyes away to watch the priestess walking before him. An ally here might not be the worst thing to have...
"No one throws a party like Secothbenoth," he said irreverently. "And truly none have mixed the grotesque with the defacing of the divine quite like you. Might I know your name? Or should I just listen for what name is being screamed in these halls? Secothbenoth himself must know your name, with it on so many lips."
Nathrae's eyes snap open, waking her from her thoughts... thoughts of what was about to happen to her. A wave of nausea hits her once she realizes where she is. She wasn't being mounted by anything today, especially not a wolf.
She springs to her feet and leaves the room, the nobles within sighing and grumbling in disappointment. She has no idea what the wolf is thinking right now, but she prays she left him with a serious case of blue balls.
After retrieving her clothes and asking for directions to a priest of Flauros, she makes her way to them, hurriedly putting what she was about to do behind her.
Well, you have SOME decency, at least. Yes. Don't tell anyone.
"Faithful of the Burning Maw, I have come to you to ask for healing. My performance in the arena earlier was nothing less than shameful, and I intend to make up for it by bathing my enemies in Flauros' sacred fires."
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Once she's healed, she spends the rest of her time asking around, hoping to glean as much information as she can about the upcoming match with House De'lyl's gladiators.
As the dark dwarves show themselves Ivan clearly tenses up, and, despite knowing better, he spits and mutters as if ye could slightly under his breath when they mention killing him. With a stern face Ivan abrubtly turns, and leaves the "temple" before the priestess can even respond and will look for healing for the warrior elsewhere.
Jade smiles appreciatively as Kyzrak makes the ultimate sacrifice. Taking Radric by the hand the gladiatrix whispers a plan quickly as they head toward the indicated grotto.
"Perhaps the addition of another nubile adherent of Secothbenoth, an unlooked for preset, might be a ruse to get close? Especially if draped with serpentine skulls. Whose fangs are poisoned, and ready to sink into a certain one-eared overseers'...anatomy?"
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He watches Kyzrak be led away by the beautiful drow, and is for the moment quite jealous. If he knew the kinds of fates that awaited the others, he would've been only too glad that Jade took him by the hand and pulled him in the opposite direction. Upon hearing her suggestion, he sticks his tongue out in disgust. "I sure hope you're talking about you. Or anyone else, really. I'm not getting any closer to fatso's drowhood than I need to, and I sure as nine hells don't want to see it."
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The sounds of the Silken Sinners’ mocking laughter echo in Nathrae’s ears as she flees her assigned partner’s advances, but nobody tries to stop her go...
‘See you soon, little girl...’
... Following directions to the worshippers of Flauros, Nathrae first hears the ringing of hammer on anvil, the hiss of hot steel being quenched, and the coarse scratching drone of blade against grindstone, before she turns into the large circular chamber where she was told to go. A wave of heat hits her as she steps into the room, which bustles with activity as piles of gladiatorial equipment are forged and repaired by both drow smiths and dwarven slaves working the tools of their craft all round. A low-walled pool in the centre of the chamber bubbles with what appears to be primal lava (and, although the room is swelteringly hot, it’s still survivable, so it’s obvious that some magic must be involved in containing the lava like that...) which is being used to heat the metal of the objects being worked on. The occupants of the chamber hardly offer Nathrae more than a passing glance as they press on with their work... which isn’t too surprising, as other gladiators, servants, and the like appear to be constantly making their way in and out as they bring in broken equipment, or leave with repaired or new goods.
When Nathrae enquires further about the priesthood of Flauros, she’s directed to a tall, muscular, drow man, stripped to the waist as he pounds a smith’s hammer against the red-hot blade of a partially-formed gladius he holds on an anvil with a pair of heavy tongs. The man wears his long white hair tied back in a simple ponytail, with a leather circlet around his head helping keep stray wisps out of his eyes as he works. A heavy leather bracer adorns each of the man’s wrists, but like the leather boots, trousers, and belt he wears, appear to be well-worn practical garb of no ornamental value – in contrast to the usual styles adopted by most drow of station. His only ornamentation appears to be a masterfully made metal buckle on his belt, depicting a fanged mouth drooling lava – the unholy symbol of Flauros. On the other hand, the way the sparks which fly as he strikes the red-hot blade reflect on the glistening skin of his bare chest, his perfectly-formed muscles moving beneath in a display of well-tempered masculinity... maybe he doesn’t need any more ornamentation than that?
The priest doesn’t pause in his work, or even look up, as Nathrae makes her request, but eventually he seems to come to a natural pause, having quenched the blade in a nearby barrel of water, causing great plumes of steam to billow forth, before setting it aside, wiping his hands and face with a cloth, and finally looking at Nathrae. For some moments his eyes lock with hers, as he seems to peer into her soul, a stern expression on his face, but finally he shrugs,
‘You’re Nathrae, aren’t you,’ the tone of his deep, resonant, voice sounds more like a statement than a question, ‘the one they’re calling a “daughter of Flauros”. I can’t say I caught your arena performance – we’re kept too busy down here on days when there are games – but I’ll take your word for it that you shamed yourself... and our Lord of The Burning Maw by association. That clearly won’t do, and I’m not in the habit of handing out favours... or healing magic... for nothing. On the other hand, I’ve heard some promising murmurs about you from the patrons we get in here,’ he looks Nathrae up and down again (more in the manner of a smith assessing a blade than with anything approaching erotic interest – a contrast to Socothbenoth’s priesthood!), then gestures for her to join him by the central lava pool. There he removes two small lives lizards from a cage nearby, and passes one, wriggling as it’s held by its tail, to Nathrae,
‘Join me in devotion to The Burning Maw,’ he directs, dangling his own lizard over the lava high enough that it slowly... torturously slowly... starts to burn alive, ‘and I’ll consider your request.’
For the better part of an hour, the priest leads Nathrae in devotions to Flauros, the lizards eventually being burned to ash, but kept alive as long as possible throughout, and the ash then consumed by Nathrae and the priest. The prayers finally done, the priest gives Nathrae another of those long assessing looks, then nods (more to himself than to Nathrae), lays his powerful hand on her chest, and incants a spell...
‘Go,’ the priest orders, turning back to his work as he does so, ‘burn in the name of The Flaming Maw.’
The priestess doesn’t seem overly concerned about Segovax’s withdrawal of his offer and, after briefly consulting a colleague, provides the half-orc with directions to the priesthood of Baphomet...
It takes a while to find, and many people asked along the way don’t seem to know anything about the place, but eventually Segovax manages to locate the temple of Baphomet... or more of a shrine, to be exact. Located in a lower part of the hypogeum amongst maze-like tunnels which seem to have something to do with the mechanical workings of the arena above (with brass pipes leaking steam, large greased metal screws reaching up through the ceiling to operate some machinery or other, and other such cogs and gears) it’s a squeeze for the large half-orc to make his way, even though the bustle of the hypogeum is here replaced with no more than the occasional rat... but finally he emerges down a few steps into a small, square, chamber, with more tunnels leading off in every direction. In the centre of the chamber is a stone plinth, on top of which is mounted a brass bull’s head with a ring through the nose and ruby eyes: steam issues from the figure’s nostrils in regular puffs, as if it were breathing... which would be more impressive if Segovax hadn’t passed so many stream pipes on his way down... and the eyes glow with a flickering light. The only person in the chamber is a small figure bundled into voluminous but ragged robes obsessively polishing the brass bull’s head with a cloth when Segovax enters and says his part... The figure sighs, pauses in his polishing, and turns to look Segovax up and down...
‘Let me guess,’ the robed man – who turns out to be a ancient-looking gnome bent over with years, with unkempt grey-white hair, a heavily wrinkled face, and milky eyes – replies, ‘you’re one of those “Faithful” who think of The Lord of Minotaurs as a simple deity of strength, yes? Probably tribal or something...’ he shakes his head and tuts to himself, ‘... that’s what comes from a lack of education... I blame the parents... you’d think they’d know better but...’ he seems content to trail off into general blathering for a while, before suddenly seeming to recall Segovax. Pointing one crooked finger in an accusing manner he says, ‘Look here, youngster: Baphomet is a beast, and a lord of beasts, that’s true – he has strength, he has power... but he’s also the master of the labyrinth, of conspiracies and whispers and secret societies... he’s a beast, but with cunning: the most deadly kind! Only fools and his enemies think him a mere brute, an engine of carnage – that’s the only aspect of The Lord of Minotaurs they’re permitted to see... but that’s just the end game. Those privileged to worship Baphomet should strive to understand the whole of the game: before the carnage there’s quiet sitting and watching and waiting and plotting, undermining your enemy’s strengths and learning their weaknesses... learning the land, becoming master of the area... making sure that when the end game comes, you’re the undisputed predator, and never the prey... but...’ his gaze darts around, as if seeking enemies and spies lurking in the shadows, ‘... I’ve already said too much...’ He cautiously puts his finger to his lips, shakes his head at Segovax, and goes back to polishing the bull’s head...
... then turns around, squints at Segovax as if seeing him for the first time, and says,
‘Healing you say? I can do that... got any coin?’
The priestess laughs joyfully at Kyzrak’s words,
‘My name is Belmarna,’ she replies as she steps into a well-appointed, but cosy, side-chamber resplendent with silk cushions, drapes, and multi-coloured lanterns. She throws herself backwards onto the mass of cushions, pulling Kyzrak with her, as she adds, with a grin, ‘although most address me as “Mistress”...’
The chamber also proves to contain a few small darkwood chests, ornately carved with scenes of carnal perversity, each seeming to contain a different type of erotic aid: carved ivory phalli and similar props in one, pleasantly scented oils, ointments, and lubricants in another, velvet-lined manacles and other restraints in a third, and so on... although Belmarna seems content with mostly just offering Kyzrak teasing (and occasionally perplexing... or horrifying... ) glimpses of the contents as she selects a few, relatively modest, items with which to enhance their mutual pleasure over the course of their encounter...
‘Well, that was certainly relaxing,’ Belmarna declares after about an hour, as she sits astride Kyzrak and stretches in a somewhat feline manner, a grin on her lips, ‘I do hope that’s just the prelude to many future encounters: there’s so much we could try, my mind’s positively racing with the possibilities! I’ve a thought to take things slowly with you,’ she runs her fingers through Kyzrak’s hair as she leans close to kiss him then, her face inches from his, continues, ‘my beautiful boy. I so rarely get the opportunity to really appreciate the careful sculpting of truly perverse soul...’ she kisses Kyzrak again, but then sighs, stands, and stretches once more: her every move seems calculated to maximise her erotic appeal, although it’s so casual that it must be either incredible natural talent or a mastery so well practiced as to appear second nature... ‘I suppose we better make sure those dwarves haven’t diddled your friend to death yet...’ she comments, her tone making it clear that doing so is a very unwelcome chore...
True to their word, the duergar are merciless with Lorelei, punching, slapping, and beating her almost as much as they indulge their erotic whims at her expense – both singularly and as a group... by the end she’s in a much worse state than when she started... and it’s hard to even tell if the duergar are pleased or not, they just seem perpetually grumpy (and with a lot of pent-up dislike toward drow women to work out of their systems...)... It’s not long before the continuous pain and humiliation starts to blur into one drawn-out nightmare...
‘Is she dead?’ the Socothbenoth priestess inquires, sounding disinterested, as she makes an entrance after what seems like an eternity (but is closer to an hour later) Kyzrak in tow. The lead duergar snorts and plants a kick to Lorelei’s already heavily bruised and battered ribs, causing her to murmur and squirm where she lies in a pool of various bodily liquids on the bare stone floor. The priestess raises an eyebrow, ‘Really? I commend your restraint, Slavemaster,’ she comments, sounding surprised, then adds in a more serious (and somewhat threatening) tone, ‘and I expect you to make good on your promises on your next visit: no less than half a dozen, all nubile, and all still virgins... and by the Abyss, this time make sure they’re pretty!’ The ‘slavemaster’ grumbles out an affirmation, then exits with his two compatriots (muttering something about ‘finding a real drink’...).
Kneeling next to Lorelei the priestess runs a finger across some of the beaten gladiatrix’s more obvious injuries, smiling to herself as Lorelei winces with pain,
‘They can be brutal, those grey dwarves,’ she comments in a rather conversational manner, ‘it’s crude, but there’s something to it... if I didn’t need the Slavemaster’s respect to negotiate deals with him, I’d probably indulge myself... I’m really quite jealous, you know... still,’ she glances up at Kyzrak, ‘your friend proved quite the pleasant distraction: you should try him some time, if you’ve not yet – it’d be a shame for him to lose something vital in the arena before you’d gotten the chance to play...’ she offers Kyzrak a wink, then turns back to Lorelei, ‘I know it’s a delightful hurt, child, but I’m afraid you did ask for this, so...’ she murmurs the words of a spell, and the pain ceases as Lorelei’s injuries are all healed...
Despite dragging Ragnar’s unconscious form hither and thither, Ivan can’t manage to locate anyone impressed enough with the Ulfen to offer free-of-charge healing services...
The obese one-eared guard proves easy enough to locate, with the priestess’s directions: the pair find him in one of the smaller, more basically appointed, side-chambers, slumped on a cushion-festooned couch, naked and glistening with sweat. A slim, collared, pale-skinned halfling slavegirl with her brunette hair shaved down to a single long topknot, kneels on the couch as well, her wrists manacled behind her and her head bobbing up and down at the guard’s crotch – one of his meaty hands on the back of her head offering ‘encouragement’ to (from the sounds she’s making) her considerable distress. His other hand alternates between a leg of roast... something... he’s gnawing on, and a jug of wine he swigs at often, not bothering with a cup and spilling a goodly amount down the rolls of fat which make up his chest and stomach... The guard’s clothes and armour are scattered around the chamber, but his dagger lies on the table by his elbow, a sap lies on the floor by his hand, and a sword is propped against the wall behind him... The only thing he’s actually wearing is (naturally...) a key on a leather thong around his neck...
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He puts out a hand to stop Jade from moving any further in, seeing that their presence doesn't appear to have yet been noticed (hoping that where his hand makes contact is high enough or low enough to avoid awkwardness-- her chest is out of his accidental reach, but her more important part is not). He pulls her to the side, out of sight. "Looks like he's already got a nubile adherent of somebody-or-other. That key being around his neck is going to make things a lot trickier."
Ivan soon becomes frustrated, then infuriated.
dyrn slinky fools of cursed stone n' broken rock, not nar a lick if bloody decentness in em! Colder than a frost gaints rear I say!
As ivan seta the ulfen up in an area off to the side he continues his rant using ever more colorful dwarvish rants and curses. Then finally looks at the ulfen.
Aight! I've done me part! Its time ye got up now.
I said live damn ye!!!
Nathrae could care less what the wolf thinks, but its words still stay with her.
Indeed. See you soon... on the end of my blade.
The priest of Flauros is an impressive specimen--clearly, working the sacred forges allows only the hardiest and best to thrive. She partakes of the rituals with the appropriate reverence, secretly thankful the looks the priest gives her are more analytical in nature than anything else.
Nathrae keeps her ears open as the rituals of Flauros proceed... she learns a great deal about what their future matches today will bring. A slaughter of dwarven slaves? Not what I'd consider truly glorious, but it's a way to get back into the Mistress' graces. Do it with style, and I may yet live for another day... oh, and the halflings are to dress up like drow children? And I'm going to be dressed up as a civilian? Odd...
She continues paying attention regarding the team House De'lyl is fielding. More experienced gladiators, eh? And they have lesser ones ready to fill in for them in case any of the stars can't make it... A smirk appears on her face. Yes... perhaps they can be cut down to size before we even start.
It's when she overhears the bit about Omargos that she really starts to pay attention. A half-ogre?! Well, no wonder so many speak highly of him, his size would give him an edge over much smaller opponents... but the fact that he's either lazy or too much of a glory-hog to fight unless his entire team is slain could work in our favour... if one of us isn't stupid enough to attack him first. Yes... it'll be his undoing. Size doesn't matter when you're flat on your back.
At the end, once her healing is complete, Nathrae bows. "I shall, Revered Forgemaster. The fire rises."
---------------
Once the rest of the gladiators assemble, Nathrae fills them in on what she's learned. She winces briefly when she sees Lorelei, but otherwise steels herself and speaks.
"I've learned what our next challenge is--we're going to slaughter dwarven slaves." Nathrae says bluntly. "Apparently, it's for some sort of re-enactment of drow history or something, but it's really just an 'execution by gladiator' sort of thing."
"Not only that, but I've kept my ear to the ground regarding House De'lyl's team. Apparently, they're sending out more experienced gladiators than us, with the intent of us losing. The odds are stacked against us, but I think we can tip them back in our favour." She smirks.
The smirk fades. "And their champion, Omargos? He's no ordinary gladiator--he's half-drow, half-ogre. Bred for arena combat, and incredibly large. He tends to hang back while his team fights, only stepping in once all his allies are dead... or if somebody--" She pointedly glances at Segovax. "--attacks him first."
Lorelei trails along with Nathrae, just glad for the moment to be healed and that she survived the attentions of the three dark dwarves.
"Well, if we are supposed to win, then I suppose that the fight with the dwarves shouldn't be too hard. I would rather like to stay as undamaged as possible rather than trying to be healed again around here. That last fight sounds worrisome though and that Omargos will definitely be tough to deal with. I wonder if there is any way we can get a look at him and his fellow fighters before their match?"
Nathrae nods at Lorelei. "I imagine. Perhaps there's even a way for us to... well, soften them up for the coming match."
"Oh, I almost forgot--" Nathrae's eyes light up. "--for the 'historical battle', we're going to be dressed as civilians and equipped as such." She indicates herself, Lorelei and Kyzrak (with a brief glare at the male). "And the halflings shall be painted and dressed to look like drow children."
She shrugs her shoulders. "Don't ask me why--apparently, the nobles have odd tastes."
Kyzrak gave a low whistle in amazement at the beating Lorelei had taken in exchange for Belmarna's healing; he doubted she'd enjoyed the Silken Sinners' amusements as much as he had. He helped haul her to her feet before turning back to the priestess.
He ran his fingers over one of the scratches Belmarna had given him, licking off a bit of blood. "Truly your perversions are many and wicked, Mistress. Praise Secothbenoth, and pray I have the opportunity to learn more of his ways under your tutelage." He bowed (keeping an eye on her, of course), and tugged Lorelei with him as he headed for the alcove where Radric and Jade had gone.
"Radric and Jade are trying to get a key away from a one-eared guard without getting caught," he whispered as they went, heedless of Lorelei's wounded pride. "If they succeed, all of us will have an easier time against the De'lyl gladiators. Let's see how far they've gotten."
He took a careful peek into the alcove...
***
Once everyone was gathered again, Kyzrak only smirked at Nathrae's glare. "Killing dwarves? Must be right up your alley now," he said with an insouciant grin at Lorelei. "It would be like them to throw in a little surprise, though. More entertaining that way. Best we don't get overconfident in mopping them up." He showed no regret in having to wipe out the slaves; them was the breaks, in his opinion.
"Get ready to come in if things turn ugly...er. I'll try domination first. If that fails, incapacitation. Mayhap yon bobbing maiden might relish turning the... screw."
The half-orc removes her garments, such as they are, and stands proud, powerful, naturally free of the bondage of ceremony and sport.
Jade enters the rough boudoir, her sinuous writhe apparent, a finger to her lips as she enters.
She speaks fluently in Undercommon, addressing the overseer, the language of the myriads, the subjects of the dark elves.
"Art thou ready to explode lord One-ear? Is thy bulk too much for a shaded jade? This Jade can tell thy loins are bankrupt and fetid - the stench of your eruptions is known throughout Zirnakaynin as less than the putrid excrescence of the weakest phlegmatic lightskinned fae. Wouldst thou remove thy member from her mouth lest she ends up finding it at last - your minuscule diseased worm causes her palsy - look she is fainting! Bow before a real woman and beg for my mighty blessings!"
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The ancient gnome squints at the coins Segovax produces and shakes his head,
‘It’s been many years since I’ve had to speak the common tongue of the surface world, so maybe you misunderstood,’ he replies to the half-orc, his tone biting, ‘Baphomet isn’t the god of charity to the needy and disadvantaged...’ he pauses and sighs, then continues, sounding tired but also a little sympathetic, ‘... but I guess you must be used to trading in shells or bear pelts or something... Look,’ he starts to speak slowly and clearly, ‘you need many more of these,’ he gestures towards Segovax’s coins, ‘to trade for healing... many more... or this sort of amount, but of a different colour... you know gold? Like this, but yellow...’
Despite the... dwarfiness... of Ivan’s bedside manner, Ragnar does indeed finally jolt awake at Ivan’s yelling! Clutching his hands to his head, and wincing with the movement, the ulfen growls out,
‘Ragnar’s head hurts too much for Ragnar to be dead, yes?’ he glances bleary-eyed at Ivan and, after a few moments, manages to ask, ‘What happened? Last Ragnar remembers snake woman was squeezing him... like Ragnar’s second wife used to... maybe a little softer, but still...’
The one-eared obese drow turns distinctly ashen at Jade’s approach and words, his eyes wide as his mouth gapes open, a worried frown twisting his brow. After a few moments, the halfling girl ceases her efforts and looks up at the man, a puzzled expression on her pretty young face as she glances between his now flaccid ‘diseased worm’ and the look on his face... then slowly follows his eyes to notice Jade for the first time. With another quick glance between her startled ‘patron’ and the imposing Jade, she quickly makes a decision, slipping from her place on the couch to prostrate herself at Jade’s feet, head bowed to the floor...
For his part, the fat drow silently mouths words for a moment... then scrambles and rocks his quivering flesh up from the couch, before also sinking to his hands and knees before Jade...
As surmised, Radric and Jade are a little ‘back in time’ from the others at the moment, as is Segovax.
No other details of the ‘entertainments’ have been forthcoming – only the drow and halflings have been mentioned as participating, and (apart from the halflings needing painting to look like drow children) no other details on their garb or equipage have been mentioned.
By this point, it’ll be near the time all the gladiators are due to meet Pharnox back at their assigned ‘changing room’ chamber anyway, as the morning ‘beast fights’ will be reaching their conclusion and preparations for the various entertainments will be starting in earnest. So no more opportunity to gather information for the moment.
Noticing that Segovax was acting less confident than usual, Nathrae arches an eyebrow before turning to Lorelei.
"Could you explain to him what I just told everyone else? I'm not sure he understood me."
"Oh, right." Lorelei sighs. "We really need to get that half-beast to speak properly."
Lorelei will repeat Nathrae's words to Segovax in the Common tongue of the surface dwellers.
Nathrae gives Segovax an oddly sympathetic look. I know... but it's the only way for us to survive this.
"One more thing--Omargos fights using the provocator style. House De'lyl has invested much in him... if he dies, just imagine how utterly humiliated they'll be." She says with a smirk. She prods Lorelei to provide a translation for Segovax.
Ivan crosses his arms over his chest.
ye dam near died that's what bloody happened. I thought ye were through the rest O the fight.
he paces a bit.
then I bloody drug ye cursed stoned body around half the darn town tryin to get ye healed, but not a one O the folks wanted to do it. So, I I fixed ye meself, well, somewhat. Ye won't be fighting the rest of this day but ye will fight again.
With that Ivan stomps out of the room.
.............
WHHHHHAAAAAAATTTT!!! Ivans eyes go wider than anyone though possible.
They want me to kill me own kin?!! BAH! No, I an't to do it. he pauses just a moment.
Ifin' they don't bloody well put me on tha other side. No, no, no, no.
Ivan looks to the group and sighs, seeing the determination in there eyes.
FINE! ifin ye askin' me to fight, I'll fight, But Ye got to promise me one thing. Don't go slittin' any O'ems throats what ye already knocked out. If they can't take a couple o hits then they ain't worth the beard on there chins.
Ivan looks around the room, hoping they will agree.
No needless killin', Agreed?? And Don't be expectin me to do much hammerin, though I ain't afraid to show em me helmet.
then as an after thought. He almost sighs.
ifin' halfins be kids, an ye be citizens, the bloody stone am I ta be?
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'What?' the one-eared drow asks, sounding confused, as Jade demands his key. He glances up... to see his dagger levitating to within Jade's reach! 'What in the Abyss is going on!' he yells, scrambling back and to his feet as he reaches for his sword, 'Explain yourself, slave - now!'
The halfling slave-girl squeals in fright and dashes through the doorway, where she cowers behind Radric (not even seeming to notice him as she does so...).
Loscivia's gladiators gather back in the chamber assigned to them. Ragnar lies sleeping on a stone bench, his breathing still ragged. Narsius sits quietly, adjusting the straps on his manica, with no evidence remaining of the wounds he sustained. Zandu glances at Nathrae, Lorelei, and Segovax, and looks like he's about to speak for a moment... then seems to think better of doing so as his cheeks flush a little and he turns away. Aspexia is nowhere to be seen...
Soon enough, Pharnox arrives at the chamber, Rann accompanying him.
'Marvelous showing this morning!' the priest of Socothbenoth coos... although the expression on Pharnox's face, standing a little behind the priest, suggests that he doesn't exactly agree with that conclusion. Rann doesn't dwell on the matter either, quickly pressing onwards, 'Now, Nathrae, Lorelei, and Kyzrak: you're to play the part of innocent elf civilians in your next performance, facing the stone-faced might of the savage and uncaring dwarven hordes! The halflings...' he trails off and glances about, then looks to Pharnox, '... didn't you have two halflings? No matter... send the other one along too, if you happen to locate him in time... anyway, the halflings will be painted up to appear as elven children - to enhance the dramatic appeal, you understand. We have an extensive collection of costumes, of course. Come with me,' he beckons to the drow and Hull as he starts to exit the room, 'we'll get you ready.'
Once Rann has left with his new 'players', Pharnox folds his arms across his chest and turns to the others,
'So where is Radric?' he asks, adding, 'And Aspexia and Jade too, for that matter?'
Meanwhile, Rann leads the drow and Hull along several twisting corridors, until they emerge into a chamber filled with a multitude of chests full of clothing of all sorts, not to mention tables covered in cosmetics, and stands sporting numerous wigs. Several slave-girls (a mix of human, surface elf, and halfling slaves) busy themselves around the room, but briskly snap to attention when Rann claps,
'Alright, girls,' the priest addresses the slave-girls, 'as we discussed: make the halfling over to at least resemble one of us, and help him and the others to pick out suitable outfits... hurry now, girls, we don't have all day!'
Two halfling slave-girls step over to Hull, pots of cosmetic in their hands,
'Strip, please,' one asks, 'all the way... the Master told us to be thorough...'
Other slaves steer the drow gladiators towards various chests of clothing for them to consider: there's a wide variety available, from garb suitable for a merchant, to a soldier's parade armour, to exquisite gowns suitable for a noblewoman... or so they'd appear from a distance (being stage costumes, rather than the genuine outrageously expensive articles...) and many others in between.
Nathrae is beginning to worry about the gladiators who haven't yet returned when she's ushered away along with Lorelei, Kyzrak and Hull. Upon seeing the gaudy costumes, Nathrae shrugs and picks out one that makes her resemble a merchant.
Just like old times, I suppose... well, before Flauros chose me.
As she slips into the bright blue skimpy costume, she realizes that she hasn't been given a weapon. Or even any armour. Well, THAT certainly won't do...
"Are we not permitted to bear weapons while wearing these?" Nathrae asks one of the slave girls, a look of confusion on her face. "I'd really like one, and what sensible merchant goes around without one handy at all times?"
Lorelei looks over the costumes and selects a rather ornate, emerald green gown with a very tight and low fitting bodice and decorated with colored glass beads meant to simulate expensive gemstones.
"I rather like this gown I think. It is certainly the most clothing I have worn for some time."
Ivan looks at pharnox
ain't got thebl slighest clue on that one sir.
Ivan looks around a bit.
since I was ignored, does that mean that I ain't to be figtin' then?
In disgusting good cheer as ever, Kyzrak chose a merchant's garb as well, reasoning that it would look more dramatic to be accosted in that than in armor, even parade armor. Besides, the dwarves might swarm him if he looked like more of a threat than the others. They might be slaves, but that didn't make them helpless.
"It suits you," he told Lorelei with an admiring look, "just be careful the skirts don't trip you up."
He listened with interest when Nathrae asked about their weapons. Hopefully they weren't expected to do without?
"Help! He's gone mad!!! Help" Jade cries in Undercommon. She rushes forward to touch the foul drow with a charge of wyrd enervation...
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As Jade rushes forwards, the guard's grasping hand finds his sword and he swings the flat of his blade at her... a clumsy blow the gladiatrix easily ducks, planting her palm in the middle of the obese drow's sweaty chest as she comes up and casts her spell...
... to no effect more than a brief glow which fizzles impotently against the man's innate racial resistance to spells...
'' bellows the guard at the top of his lungs!
'Hmmm?' Pharnox muses, seeming a little distracted, in response to Segovax's question. His brow furrows as he replies, 'Oh, no role for you or the others - you'd make even worse elves than a painted halfling, I think...'
Zandu seems somewhat reluctant to reply to Segovax, but after a moment or two finally shugs,
'I was just going to inquire as to what happened with the Silken Sinners... but to be honest, thinking about it, I'm not sure I really want to know...'
Narsius glances up as Ivan speaks,
'No,' he replies, 'as the Master says, we're not to fight... although "fight" isn't really the correct term for the wholesale slaughter of slaves...' he trails off, shaking his head. He steals a glance at Pharnox, but the drow doesn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation spoken in the common Taldane of the surface world, so adds, '... I've witnessed such "entertainments" before: the dwarves involved will be those considered to have outlived their usefulness - the elderly and infirm, most likely, equiped with rusty and battered weapons. Their "reward" for a lifetime of labour in the mines or forges of our drow overlords. Oh, our compatriots will be able to score themselves some favour with the crowd, I'm sure, by making their victims' deaths amusing or gory... but it's hardly proper work for a gladiator,' he shakes his head again, and goes back to adjusting the straps on his manica, as he concludes, 'trust me: we're all better out of it.'
As Hull strips nude and the two halfling slave-girls proceed to slather him all over with dark body paint, one of the human slave-girls (a pretty pale-skinned blonde with expressive blue eyes, who can't be a day over fifteen years of age) bows her head to Nathrae as she replies demurely in undercommon,
'Forgiveness, Mistress: my understanding is that weapons will be issued just before you are to enter the arena, as is the custom.'
'Don't call her that!' snaps a green-haired surface-elf slave-girl with hazel-coloured eyes, speaking in the common Taldane of the surface dwellers, 'This one's as much a slave as you or I: all these three are, despite being drow... if anything they're lower than us - we had no choice in our enslavement, whereas these three would have been freeborn down here... and still managed to end up as slaves...' the elf-girl smiles sweetly at Nathrae as she speaks, her expression in clear contrast to her words. When she turns to fetch another article of clothing to try, the scars of regular, brutal, whippings can be clearly seen across the tan skin of her back...
The blonde human girl chews nervously at her bottom lip as she tries hard to also fake a smile and hisses back, in surface Taldane,
'Tessara! Don't say things like that! They're still drow - don't upset them... please?'
Jade likewise throws herself into the fray, thinking only of the now.
Consequences be damned!!!
she yells, thrusting with the dagger.
Judging from the obviously fake smile the human slave girl just gave the elf slave, the elf just mouthed off to her betters. Nathrae turns to the elf, her smile matching the slave's...
"You're not a very smart one, are you?" Nathrae says in Elven, her smile disturbingly calm. "From the whipping scars on your back, it's clear your master didn't go far enough in punishing you... on many occasions. And it's even clearer that you never learned just how worthless you really are."
She lights her hand on fire with a snap of her fingers. "Let me explain to you in terms you can understand, slave--you are very easily replaced. I could burn you to ashes, and judging from your whipping scars, your master wouldn't lift a finger to stop me. If anything, he would thank me for ridding him of something so useless."
She leans closer, her smile no longer showing anything but teeth. "You want to say something clever now? Go ahead. Say something clever."
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Radric manages to cast his spell... just before two drow guards clad in breastplate armour etched with the 'eyeless snake coiled around a staff' symbol of Socothbenoth burst past him and into the chamber, short swords still sheathed at their belts, saps in hand.
'By the Silken Sin's sacred staff! What in the Darklands is going on in here?!' demands one of the guards, upon witnessing Jade brandishing the dagger and the one-eared obese drow guard backed against the wall with his sword in hand... both nude...
'Fruitbats!' protests the one-eared guard, 'Juicy - like Grandmother! Bombastic! Quintessentially bloodless, typhoon randy!'
The two clothed guards share a glance,
'Mad, you say?' the first asks Jade... but before she can answer the one-earred guard, in somewhat of a panic, starts waving his sword around as he tries to make himself understood... Apparantly deciding to take no chances, the two dressed guards quickly have at the poor fat chump with their saps, battering him into unconsciousness...
'There,' the more talkative of the two guards comments, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, 'maybe he'll feel better when he wakes up...' he looks Jade over then, and adds, '... now... hand me the dagger and leave... if you don't want any more trouble...' he holds his hand out in anticipation of Jade's acquiescence...
'Um,' the halfling slave-girl squeaks in a tiny voice from where she cowers behind Radric, 'should I stay with him until he wakens, Master?'
'What?' the guard doing all the talking replies, apparantly noticing the two halflings for the first time, 'Yes, fine... whatever...' he waves a dismissive gesture of agreement towards the slave-girl, his focus more on his colleague as the latter kneels to search through the unconcious obese guard's clothes, the two clothed guards sharing a grin when the searcher stands up with a half-full coin pouch in hand.
The two guards take the coin purse and weapons from the chamber ('for safe keeping', no doubt...) and make their exit. The halfling slave-girl moves over to the fat drow's body, sighs, then tries to lift his dead-weight back onto the couch, struggling with little success...
Zandu nods,
'They're fun to visit if you're the one paying for their services,' the young half-elf opines, 'and I know some gladiators swear by indulging in a quick ten minutes of "worship" with one of their "priestesses" just before a match - some of them hang around the entrances to the arena for just that purpose - but I can't say I'd ever want to be a supplicant in their hands... not after what that priestess was suggesting you lot do for her,' he shudders at the very thought of it. Changing the subject he flashes a grin at Segovax, 'Champion, is it? Well, you've some competition there, I think: that Nathrae seems to have a similar goal, if I'm any judge, but personally I'd watch the halfling - Radric is it? Word is that he was pretty impressive in his beast-fight this morning and...' he looks contemplative for a moment, then concludes, '... if you think about it, pound-for-pound, he must be our best figher, right?'
The green-haired elf-girl's eyes go wide at Nathrae's words and actions, and she unconsciously backs up a step or two. Behind Nathrae the human girl starts sobbing softly, and the elf-girl, the blood drained from her face, manages to find enough of her wits to bow her head as she mutters in undercommon, the words quick and monotonous, as if she were speaking by rote,
'This one begs forgiveness... Mistress... you are, of course, correct: this one is but a worthless worm...'
"Good. Glad we understand each other." Nathrae's tone turns half-circle, and she wills her fire out of existence with a wave of her hand.
She turns to the human girl, this time with a genuine smile on her face. "Now, would you kindly help me with this? It's a little tight in the back." She says as she begins adjusting her costume so it'll fit her better.
The guards entrance signalling a welcome return to her senses, Jade acquieseces immediately. She hands the dagger over with a sigh.
"Flaccid beast. He wouldn't make the three-backed-beast with the halfling wench and I, and then went completely crazy. Tease."
Then she nods to Radric.
"Help your friend with the guard, Slip."
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That... actually worked out pretty well. He knows the results of that spell can be unpredictable; once again, it seems, sheer luck has pulled him through. As the guards search through the fat drow's things, he leads the halfling girl into the room, doing his best to appear nonthreatening. Clearly the guards didn't notice it was him who cast the spell-- wouldn't want to push his luck here. The halfling girl rushes over to help her master after the guards leave the room; Jade orders him to do the same, and he does, but not without grumbling in the process. "Just fixed the situation, a little more gratitude would be nice..."
Between the two of them, they manage to get the unconscious guard back onto the couch. He quickly takes the key from around that big neck, trying to place his shoulders between his hands and the halfling girl so she wouldn't notice. The fewer people know about this, the better.
Once away from the Silken Sinners pain-hall Jade smiles to Radric.
"Well done, Radric. Let us quickly return and find the mask'd lady…"