.

Pierre Trudeau stood toward the back of the crowd, stunned by this woman's beauty. Also of noble blood he stands 5'8" tall, 180lbs, blue eyes, dark brown hair. After the opening call of three gold pieces Pierre speaks up. "Mais, non, Monsieur, I offer 4 gold pieces for the lovely lady." Waiting for others to place a higher bid, he was pleased when no one else did. Calling over ot his manservant Michel he said, "Take this young woman to the clothiers, so that she can wear something more deserving of noble blood, S'il vous plait. Bonjour, Madamoiselle Delacoeur, Je m'appelle Pierre Trudeau." He watches as Michel leads Isabella to the clothier, then steps forward to pay the auctioneer. "Merci monsieur, Au revior."
 
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From the street corner across from the clothier, a dark haired, clean shaven gentleman watched the pair go in, looked at the clock tower and searched his pockets for his tobacco pouch. These french could be difficult to snare, but perhaps he was seeing a way. He leaned on a wall, lit his pipe, and threw his almost black jacket open to enjoy the weather as his servant rode out to the port to say the gentleman would be delayed. The man was never in a hurry.
 
"Madamoiselle Delacoeur, Monsieur Trudeau est le maitre non ordinaire. Il n'a pas d'esclave, seulement la famille. [Miss Delacoeur, Mister Trudeau is no ordinary mater. He has no slaves, only family.] So, please feel free to purcahse that which your heart desires, he wants you to wear clothing worthy of your true station in life."

At that moment Pierre enters the clothiers. "Isabella, is there anything you will be requiring of me, I am going to the silversmith's for a moment.
 
Smiling softly at Isabella's request for food, Pierre has one request of her.

"S'il vous plait, mon cher, m'appeler Pierre ou Monsieur Trudeau. Je ne suis pas de Maitre. Cet homme fera premièrement prend vos tailles, alors nous irons à la taverne pour la nourriture et au repos."
[Please, my dear, call me Pierre or Mister Trudeau. I am no master. This man will first take your sizes, then we will go to the tavern for food and rest.]
Once her sizes have been taken down he turns to the tailor. "Monsieur, vous la serez obligé à faire non moins que dix séries complètes de vêtements. Je les veux par demain. Merci, au revoir."
[Sir, you are to make her no less than ten complete sets of clothing. I want them by tomorrow. Thank you, good bye.]

With that business done Pierre leads Isabella to the tavern, leaving Michel behind to assist if needed. Once at the tavern he orders for himself and instructs Isabella to order whatever she desires. Then he goes to the tavern keeper and gets them a room for the night.
 
Shaking his head, a compassionate look crosses his face.

"Mais madamoiselle, Je souhaite que vous ayez mangé tout que vous désirez, pas juste le pain et l'eau." [But miss, I wish you to eat all that you deisre, not just bread and water.]

Looking at the serving wench Pierre instructs her to bring her also some ale, and the best meat in the establishment. Smiling again at Isabella, he informs her that tonight they would be staying here, and tomorrow afternoon they will begin the journey to her new home, in the south of France.
 
A New Hope for Isabella

“I swear… I don’t know who he is or where they went… I never keep track of my customers after we complete our transactions,” the slaver cries in anguish as his tears fall to the floor into a puddle of his own blood, mucus and spittle. “I’m only a merchant – we all have to make a living, don’t we?”

“You deal in misery and trade lives as if they were mere chattel,”
Father Darius translates my reply as quickly as I speak the words. Behind us, the door opens and Gorope swaggers in.

“I found them, Sensei,” Gorope says simply, tapping the ornate mace that he calls a smoking pipe lightly against his thigh. “The man who purchased the young woman took her to a clothing shop, and then to a tavern – probably where he intends to take advantage of her.”

“How you manage to conduct an investigation in this foreign land without being noticed astounds me,"
I say to the former Yakuza, tossing my head towards the tattoos that cover his arms all the way to his upper back. Back home, he hid these tattoos underneath clothing. Here, however, with no meaning attached to his body art, he brazenly displays his bare upper torso.

“Well, it looks like our work is done here, Father,” I say as I turn back to Father Darius. “I thank you for your assistance. As always, I am in your debt.”

“Then promise me that you shall not pass judgement, lest you be judged yourself, my son,”
Father Darius replies, as he glances at the slaver with noticeable pity and compassion in his eyes.

“I shall do my best to follow the way of peace, as you have taught me, Father,” I reply, this time attempting to speak in the gaijin tongue. “But certainly, you can see the hand of our Lord in this? For nothing happens on this world without our Holy Father’s will, and if so, then it must be He who delivered this slaver into our possession. If the Lord wishes me to be the instrument of his justice, who am I to question the Lord my God?”

“I shall pray for you, my son,”
Father Darius says quietly as he turns and makes the sign of the cross over the slaver’s head.

We quietly watch Father Darius leave. After a few moments, I clap Gorope about his shoulders and say, “Have you ever tasted the beverages served in these barbarian taverns, Gorope?”

Gorope chuckles as we make our way to the tavern. Behind us, a lithe female form drops silently from her perch near the ceiling. Quietly, she stuffs a scavenged wet cloth into the slaver’s bleeding mouth, dislodging a few more teeth while muffling his screams. Quickly, she untied the sageo cord from her nainja-to’s scabbard and uses it to hog-tie the slaver. After rendering the slaver immobile, she draws her 24-inch blackened blade in the manner of the Left-Hand Reverse-Grip school of fencing – her clan’s own fencing style, developed by several generations of faithful and unswervingly loyal kuniuchi. She is the last of her clan, and arguably the best at what she does.

As previously instructed, she peels the slaver – slowly.

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FLASHBACK
A few years ago, in a far away land…

click, clack, click, clack, click, clack…

The sound of bokken clashing within my family’s ancestral dojo was always music to my ears. That day was a very happy day for myself, if I might be so much a braggart to say, for I officially became a Sensei – a teacher.

Becoming a teacher at my family’s school of fencing was quite a difficult feat – even more so, dare say I, than at other schools. At my family’s school, all teachers must develop their own style of swordsmanship, so that we may constantly add to the school’s collection of knowledge.

This was especially difficult for myself, for I recently joined the new gaijin religion, which preaches peace and love for all people. How could I reconcile my ambition to teach fencing – a warrior’s art – while adhering to my new religion’s teachings?

As it turned out, the answer led to the development of my own style of fencing, which follows a philosophy of humility, practicality, thrift, kindness and humanity. Instead of mastering iai and kenjutsu with a shinken – a live blade – I chose instead to direct my studies towards a more humble weapon: the bokken (wooden practice sword). With the bokken, I did not have to worry about all the care and ritual surrounding a katana and other metal blades, nor did I have to worry as much about damaging a priceless family heirloom or expensive masterwork blade. I found that I was allowed to travel anywhere and everywhere with my bokken, whilst those carrying metal swords were restricted from entering certain areas with their weapons.

Through study, I found that my wooden sword was just as deadly as its metal counterparts, and when used with my new technique, could render an opponent armed with a metal blade weaponless. I mastered the technique known as the Crashing Stones cut, which breaks or shatters an opponent’s metal blade with a wooden sword. Thus, I found that I could end combat while avoiding needless loss of life or injury.

Certainly, there were times where I had to kill or severely injure an opponent, but such occasions became fewer as my name and fencing philosophy grew in notice and reputation. With my bokken and new technique, I successfully asserted one of my clan’s philosophies: “A sword is not meant to merely kill an opponent in combat or to fulfill an order of execution; to think in this manner relegates a noble weapon into a mere tool of death and destruction. In the hands of a worthy fencer, a sword only punishes evil and protects the innocent.”

My clan elders recognized that I stayed true to my faith while pursuing my life’s ambition, and after giving them a successful demonstration of my new-found technique, they decided to promote me to the rank of Sensei. I was very happy that day, and felt very pleasantly humbled by my accomplishment. Unfortunately, my new-found happiness and sense of fulfillment was destined to be quite short-lived…
 
A cunning plan

Lord Robert began iquiries where a suitible girl could be found. His target, it seemed, had a weakness for helpless girl and if one could be purchased or abducted and brought to the right level of subjegation, she might be the bait needed.

The gentleman spy sent a servant to make inquiries and another to keep track of the target and his newly aquired possession. Mean time he had a hunch that the sort of girl he needed would be found in the highest of society, so arranged himself an invitation to court.
 
As Isabella ate, Pierre couldn't help but become aroused by this beautiful woman. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. When they finished eating he led her to the room that was saved for them. Upon arriving he noticed it only had one bed, not the two he had asked for.

"Isabella, vous êtes une très belle femme, et je ne me fie pas. Je dormirai par terre." [Isabella, you are a very beautiful woman, and I don't trust myself. I will sleep on the floor.]

Laying down on the floor, waiting to be certain that she was asleep, Pierre moved his hand down to his hard member, and slowly began to stroke it, while he thought about the lovely woman asleep on the bed.

OOC: This makes my 100th post, yay me.
 
Hearing Isabella whimper, he stops what he is doing. Concern quickly overriding his barely hidden lust. Pierre doesn't speak anything remotely similar to German and has no clue what she's saying, but obviously it isn't good. He thinks about his options for a moment, then finally decides he needs to wake her up. Before he reaches down to gently shake her he notices her back is crisscrossed with scars, apparently from a whip.

"Isabella... Isabella... La suite en haut, quel est mauvais?" [Wake up, what is wrong?]

Once she has woken up, Pierre points at her back and darkly asks "Quel sauvage vous a-t-il fait ceci?" [What savage did this to you?]
 
Slightly stunned by the outburst, he wondered did her father touch her, is that why she was sold? He couldn't abide slavery, nor could he abide the use of whips on people, they were meant for animals.

"Non, Ne pas avez honte, à cause d'une autre brutalité. Ce n'est pas votre défaut." [No, do not be ashamed, because of anothers brutality. It is not your fault.]

Looking compassionately into Bella's eyes, Pierre asks if she'd like to have her back examined by the local healer, it was late, but money can make a lot of doors open, and Monsieur Trudeau, had money.
 
Pierre nods, leaving the room for few minutes to get water and cloth, to at least clean her back. When he returns he tells her it may hurt a bit, and offers his hand to squeeze if need be.

Drenching the cloth he lets her know that he is about to start, and slowly, gently he runs the cloth across her back. Some of these wounds are in bad shape, but with a little care, they should heal nicely. Pierre notices as Isabella clenches.

"S'il te plaît, essayer de relâcher." [Pleae (informal), try to relax.]

"C'était l'homme qui tu a vendu à moi, il a fait ceci?" [Was it the man who sold you to me, did he do this?]
 
His blood boiled at this revelation, he was so incensed he even forgot to correct Isabelle for calling him master. She has no faith in herself, a failure, I think not. Her father was a worthless louse, who drove his family into a debt he couldn't repay, as for a slave... well he was going to do this anyway.

"Bella, J'allais vous dire demain quand nous sommes arrivés à ma maison, mais je vous dirai maintenant. Vous ne sont pas d'esclave, vous êtes libre comme le jour vous étiez né." [I was going to tell you tomorrow when we arrived at my house, but I will tell you now. You are no slave, you are as free as the day you were born.]

Pierre went on to tell her, "You are welcome to stay with me, and my family. There is plenty of room, and I promise you will never be sold or beaten again."

OOC: Thanks to freetranslation.com for that last bit
 
Delila

Name: Delila
Age: Barely 18
HGT: 5'3
Wgt:115lbs
HC: Black
EC: Emearld green
HL: Very Long (usually up in a light bun unless told to where it other wise)
SC: Pale

IC: Another young beauty is led on to the wooden platform. She has shakles on her hands and feet. And a collar with a chain leash around her neck. The auctioner took hold of the leash and pulled so the girl would move to where the men could see her.

" This young girl is barely 18 and is still a virgin. Look at how young and firm she is, and her hair, " he took hold of the pins holding her hair up and pulled them out letting her silky black hair cascade pass her back to the ground. " She is a true treasure for any gent. I'll start the bidding a 5 francs, do I here 5 francs? "

The young girl stood there in a white slip that showed tons of cleavege and it went to about midthigh. Tears fell down her face. She shook from fear and it was also cold, causing her nipples to become erect.
 
"No, no, no, you miss understand. My staff is my family, Michel, Claude, Marie. I have never lain with a woman before. I own no slaves, my staff is paid. You, with no domestic skills would be no slave, nor a member of my staff, but of my household. As far as your father telling you, that was the reason of your birth, he will surely be cast into the lake of fire on the day of judgement."

Pierre hoped he had gotten his point across, "If you would be married to me, I would gladly have you. If you only want a place to live, you have that too. You are never to be sold, or beaten again. I pledge my life."


OOC: English is so much easier.
 
freebe

There is a knock on the door where Bella and her master are, whn it is opened there i a slave handler with a beautiful young girl, who looked barely 18, she had incredibly long black hair that touched the ground. Her emerald green eyes were full of fear, her body trembled. She was still in shackels on her ankles and hands and the same collar and leash were around her neck.

"Excuse me sir, but the slave master thought maybe you would take this girl, you do not have to pay for her. She is a virgin still so I gurantee its a good deal. " The handler said.

The young girl saw Bella's naked back and she flinched. She two had those markings on her back. These two were best friends and she knew that is why she was brought to be with Bella.

The handler took the new girl over next to Bella and turned her around. He removed the top of the slip she was wearing exposing the fresh and old lacerations covering her back.

" This is all you have to do if they get out of shape, " The handler said. With that he walked briskly out the door and closed it. Leaving The Master and the two slaves alone.
 
Delilah is shaking hard and embraces her longtime friend. She flinches when hands accidently touch the fresh scars on her back.

" Bella I was so worried she whispered, I was so scared, " she wept.

Delilah the looked up and saw her new master, she gasped. And at the point a whip dropped from where it was hidden arond her neck. Delilah knew it was breaking a rule if she spoke without the masters permission, she took in a deep breath and gathered enough strength and stood up, she handed the whip to the master and turned to find something to grab onto for balance but there was nothing. So she leaned over and braced herself for the harsh, painful, smacks.
 
"Mon Dieu, the depravity of these barbarians is astounding. Delilah is it? I am Pierre Trudeau, you may call me Monsieur Trudeau. You are no longer a slave, and will not be beaten or sold again. If you have any domestic skills, you are welcome to join my staff. If not, You may join Bella and myself, at what I hope will soon become OUR home."

When he said OUR he looked towards Bella, the idea of marriage to one so beautiful as her, completely acceptable and desireable.

"For now, let us have a look at your back, and see if we can't clean it up a little."

Pierre had no idea what to do with the whip, there were no animals around, and his blood boiled not for the first time this night. He threw it down, "Never again!"
 
"These things she says are true. You will want for nothing, and you will always be welcome."

Pierre waits expectantly for Delilah's decision.
 
Delilah turned around and tears filled her eyes, he didn't want her. Noone wanted her. she knew she would be taken back to the master, beaten and blamed for it. Then she would be sold again. She looked at Bella it was no wonder why he would want Bella over her, she was mature and breathtaking. She stepped away from his touch when he went to clean her back. She pulled the top of her slip back up and headed quietly towards the door. Picking the whip up in the process. She knocked three times and when it opened the same handler looked at her. He grabbed the leash and yanked her out.

" So she offended you already huh, " he brought the whip hard down on her stomach, she yelped and a blood begain covering the white cloth. Her Yelp made the handler hit her again. Then he whistled and four very large men appeared at the door.

They grabbed the girl and began pawing her roughly. The handler looked from Bella to Bella's master.

" I guess the master was right, he said you probably needed to be taught what to do with these, he said that the fresh unbroken girl Delilah would be the best to show you with." With that he tore Delilahs clothes from her body revealing her fragile petite body, then through her on the floor the four monster encircled her, already they had their pants down. The size of their manhoods made the small girl cry she knew she couldn't take those they would split her in half.

" NO! PLEASE, " Delilah screamed tears streaming down her face. She was cut off by the sharp sting of a hand across her mouth.

The four men then picked the girl up and began carring her towards a wooden table. laughing the whole time.
 
"Sacre Bleu!" Pierre shouts as the handler's whip comes down across Delilah's stomach again, as the handler reaches back his arm for another swing, he grabs hold of the whip, and loops it around the handler's, reaching down for the dagger in his boot.

"Tell your men, to let her go, or I'll disembowel you, were you stand Oh and perhaps I'll have my SLAVE, castrate you." The word slave dripped with so much sarcasm, a retarded street urchin would've picked up on it.
 
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Delilah watches this and suddenly something she didn't know was in her boiled to the surface and she lept on to her feet and wrapped her legs around one of the guys necks and in one quick movement the neck of the man snapped. But then the handler grabbed the leash and yanked it, bringing Delilah crashing to the floor.

" It's death for you, " The handler hissed

Delilah struggeled with al her strength to break free.
 
At those words, "It's death for you." Pierre drove his dagger into the handler's ear, blood erupting from the ear drum. "Bella, give this animal's genitals their freedom."

Before he could finish the statement, the man crumbled to the floor.
 
Delilah felt the blood of the handler, and she got to her feet. She broke away and her eyes turned to the last male and with strength she didn't know she had she reached and took hold of his now semi-erect blood covered mand hood and pulled, the man scream cut short as Delilah grabbed his dagger and slit his throat blood covered her body and in her hands was the blood, limp remains, of this mans manhood.

After the adreniline left she collapesed exhausted on the floor.
 
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Delilah looked up with a little bit of a scared expression on her eyes.

" What about when the bodys are found, " Delilah asked her eyes looking from Bella to the Master.

" I do not want you guys to get into trouble over me, " She whispered

" Maybe I should leave, " Delilah said but she didn't have the strength to move that fast.
 
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