An Elf and A Slave(Closed)

[WeaverofWorlds]

The sun shone down on the open field of the arena, it's stands populated sparsely as the mornings presentations continued. While it was certainly true that entertainment in the form of brutal battles were a common sight in the grand arena of Avolsan, today it was serving a more mundane, if arguably more profitable for those involved. Rather than the crowds of fans packed in so they might see gladiators beat each other senseless, it was merchants, traders and the wealthy who sat among finer seats and private boxes, watching the ceaseless parade of slaves be presented and made to exhibit themselves for perusal.

Beneath the sand dusted field above, preparations were underway for the more exciting presentations. Most of the slaves being presented at first were the mediocre, more useful for manual labor or as house servants. Those to come later, however, were the prime merchandise. Rather than simply march them in front of potential buyers, the slave traders had arranged for the most valuable to show off their worth in a mock battle. For Lothis Crane, renowned slave master and premier trainer of gladiators(though not, of course, by his personal hand), that meant showing off one of the most troublesome of his employer's slaves.

He found himself standing before the reinforced iron cage, frowning at the figure knelt within. Many gladiators were ready, even eager, to walk out onto the field. Fighting in the arena was one of the most readily available ways to reach freedom, many a warrior earning their lives back through glory earned at the whim of another. Others shook in fear, rightfully knowing that their life could be forfeit, lost in an accident or at the behest of a disappointed master. This one, though... this one was unique.

She was a unique woman. Though she appeared human, even knelt she was near tall enough to match him in height. Standing, he knew that even the tallest human he'd met could hardly reach her chest. Her body was muscular and athletic, forged from her time in as a gladiator and life before her slavery. She was dressed in little better than rags, enough to wrap her chest and hide her... other endowments from sight, if for nothing than decencies sake, but also to better how off her physical traits. Though she'd been bathed her skin was still stone grey, her short cut hair a few shades darker still to match the color of charcoal. Both were an obvious mark of her inhuman nature if her mere size weren't evidence enough. Perhaps the only thing that did not appear as if carved from stone were her eyes, the striking green orbs rising to meet Crane's as he spoke.

"Make yourself ready. You're to go out next, and I need you to perform your best. You understand?"

The woman's eyes narrowed a moment, the spark of pride and defiance something he'd never been able to rid her of. But still she nodded sharply, her understanding clear. She'd been at this long enough, fighting in arena's from the Glimmering Sea to the south to the chilling winds of the mountainous north. Ever since her capture and enslavement, under one master or another. She knew the costs of keeping her were weighing on the slave master, her appetite and the necessity of keeping more guards on hand eating away at his coin purse. More trouble than she was worth, as many did not want to throw away men facing her, not after her first few bouts in any arena.

The cage was opened once the man had his assurance of her understanding, nearby guards tense and expectant of trouble as she emerged and stood to her full height. She spent a moment stretching out the kinks in her muscles before following her current master through the tunnels and towards the ramp that would lead onto the field.

"Remember, no killing anyone today. I've no interest in souring my relationship with the other slave masters. Master's paid good money to find you opponents, he don't need to pay more. Sides, wouldn't want to get one final lashing before you leave, eh?"

She didn't see the need to respond to that. She knew how the games worked. Unless it was a an execution, or the fight was meant to be to the death, killing was frowned upon. A waste of investment said the slave masters. A good way to get yourself shanked in the night, said the gladiators. Even if she was generally kept separate to her fellows, that didn't mean she didn't have some friends among their number. She'd no interest in souring her own relationship, in the hopes and understanding that someday they might hold her at their mercy.

"Now go, and put on a good show!"

With that last word, she strode out, stepping onto the sands of this newest arena, eyes blinking slightly at the sunlight as she took in the sight of it. Across, at another gated ramp, a dozen men stepped out as well, armed where she had been left with nothing. She might have felt betrayed by this, or perhaps merely annoyed, if it were not common enough in her fights. Her sheer size and strength was made up for the lack of weapons often enough. Normally someone might have shouted out an introduction, their voice amplified by magic to be heard above the shouting crowds baying for violence. Now, there was only the barely audible talking among the private boxes, other servants speaking in more private conversations of the next display. No doubt the virtues of owning her were being played up even now. Still, they weren't to start the bout till the signal was given, a few minutes so that the full sales pitch could be given and not distract from the combat about to take place.

 

[thefungirl]

Laurellendrelle Esmeranda Tisith Q'amarand, youngest daughter to Emric Ashvarelle Ved Q'amarand, the wealthiest of the elven lords in the Western Reach, was feeling decidedly bored with the days events. It was not uncommon for Laurel, as her friends and acquaintances addressed her, to become bored easily, though normally the gladiatorial spectacles that she so often attended were of more interest to her. It was the bloodshed and the brutality that appealed to her however and today's offerings had been quite devoid of either so far, leaving little to distract the elf lady from her rather loud and oafish companion, Donden Castiwerry, Earl of Fornich.

The Earl had invited Laurel and her retinue to view the day's presentation from the comfort of his private box and Donden seemed to think himself quite the host. For almost three hours, Laurel had been subjected to his constant prattling about politics and business, two subjects for which the young woman had a distinct aversion. If not the unusually strong, and seemingly endless supply of wine, she suspected she might have throne herself from the private box and dashed her brains out on the hard stone seats of the lower portion of the arena.

Lady Q'amarand had only accepted the Earl's invitation in the hope that the Earl's wife, Lady Olivia might be attending the event, but sadly Donden had informed Laurel that his wife had no interest in gladiatorial battles, let alone the sale and display of slaves. Pitty, the elf thought as she remembered her first meeting with Lady Olivia. A chaste and most respectable woman, it had taken Laurel less than an hour to lure Olivia into her bed. A quirk of a smile crept across her delicate elven features as she remembered the evening she'd spent with the Earl's wife, extracting the most delicious sounds from the normally shy and reserved woman.

In the expectation that Lady Olivia would be attending, Laurel had dressed, as was often the case, provocatively. A top made from gossamer like elven thread that hung around her neck and draped down over her small breasts, but did little to obfuscate her pale nipples, accompanied a pair of light blue stockings that reached from her upper thighs down to her bare feet and were adorned with touches of silver and gold. A silvery mesh loin cloth covered her most intimate parts, but was designed to shift and move enticingly, giving the occasional glimpse of the prizes beneath.

While the Earl's wife wasn't there to appreciate Laurel's clothes, or lack thereof, the Earl had been more than attentive, making the day even more unbearable. If not for her companions, Ferra and Morgan, the elf was sure she wouldn't have been able to endure. Ferra one of her closest companions did her best to distract the Earl from Laurel, engaging him in conversation and even, on occasion, flirting with him, while Morgan, a distant cousin sat at her side to converse with her, offering his own brand of cynicism and wit regarding the day's events.

As the next display began and the company of gladiators was issued out onto the reddish brown sand, Laurel, who had been lounging in her overly large chair, one foot up on the seat and the other leg draped across the arm of the chair, suddenly saw something to interest her. Opposite a group of bronze, muscled fighter stood a lone figure. She towered over the other gladiators and it was clear immediately that she was a giantess, or a half giantess at least. She was unarmed and yet, Laurel sensed that the fight that was about to begin was not going to be the blood bath one might presume. If anything, the small group of men opposite her appeared to shrink back under the tall, majestic warrior's gaze.

"Ah, I see you're interested in the giantess," Morgan whispered into the elf's ear. "I thought you might like the looks of her. "

"Where is she from?" Laurel asked, not taking her eyes from the female gladiator.

"I've made inquiries but haven't learned anything for sure. I hear she is ferocious in battle. I believe she is owned by a man named Crane," Morgan continued. "And there are rumors about her, about one particular gift she has..."

He left that hanging, clearly intending to tease, but Laurel would have none of it, fixing her cousin with a glare. He quickly leaned forward and whispered into her ear, cupping his hand so those nearby would be unable to hear. The petite elf's eyes widened and a smile most wicked formed on her lips as she leaned closer to the edge of the box, her eyes intent on the figure below. "Oh that is interesting. Bring this Crane to me. I would like to speak to him."

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

She had made her way closer to the group of men set to face her in the time before the start of the match was called. She idly watched as her opponents spread out, making the effort to surround her. For her part, she spent more attention trying to observe the occupants of the private boxes. It did her little good, faces were merely faces to her, each of someone she could not recognize, if they bothered to lean out far enough for her to make out at all. Soon it was no longer the attendees of the event but rather the man stepping up to the edge of the field, his voice rising just loud enough so that the order to begin could be heard. With clear hesitation, her opponents began to close the circle they'd formed around her in her minutes of distraction, hoping most likely to overwhelm her entirely. Not a bad plan, though one she'd little interest in allowing.

Remember, girl. If they look to surround you, pick the weakest and break free.

A distant memory, advice from an elderly gladiator who'd taken her younger, rasher self under his wing. One of her many teacher's over the years, each one driving their lessons into her, each imparting a fragment of wisdom or a useful trick. In this case, the advice had her head swiveling, a quick look finding the most likely weak link in their improvised formation. The gladiator was little more than a boy, tall and thick for his small kind, perhaps, but she'd grown used to seeing who had experience, and he held his dulled blade like an amateur. She was moving moments later, her legs closing the distance between them in long, bounding strides. His surprise was echoed by the shouts of alarm from his companions, a single command to run suggesting someone knew of her reputation. He managed only a halfhearted jab at her, easily batted aside with the back of her hand, before she was on him, an open palmed slap across his face sending the boy sprawling to the ground.

Fightin alone, ya can't let a man get up again. Strike hard, lass, less they come back fer more.

An old dwarf, his accent thick, who'd shown her some tricks from his days of tunnel fighting. Even as the boy hit the dirt, her foot rocketed forward, catching the boy across the face and knocking him out. She wasted only a moment to ensure he was still breathing before she was whirling to face the next opponent, green eyes flashing as her blood began to pump hot in her veins. Another had come, rushing to his fellow's defense despite the eldest of her opponents bellowing a warning. Another new blood, perhaps more seasoned, perhaps simply more practiced at a blade. Yet still foolish, as he brought his weapon up and back for an overhand swing. She stepped into it, rather than try to dodge away, one hand catching the man's arm before it could finish the motion, the other coming up in a vicious uppercut against a vulnerable chin. The sharp crack could be heard distinctly in the arena, the other gladiators flinching visibly at the all to familiar noise.

She'd broken his jaw in one motion, her fist more akin to a hammer with the amount of strength she'd put behind it. Already she could see the blood seeping from the man's mouth, his eyes rolling back into his head as he went limp, only her grasp on his sword arm keeping him even partially upright. She let him fall after a moment, when she knew he was truly unconscious, her fist having been readying for another blow if it proved necessary. Instead she let it drop back to her side as she turned her attention to those that remained.

Show confidence, show disdain, even show contempt. Never show fear.

She made of show of her lack of worry, lazily twisting her neck this way and that as if to work out some imagined kink in the muscles. She could see the hesitation in the ten men that remained, see the sudden fear. Who would be next, they must wonder. Who would be the next to fall to her hands, left bloody upon the sand? A smile found its way to her lips, a grin that she couldn't quite contain, as she didn't walk so much as she stalked forward, fists curling with the promise of pain for those before her.

------

Above the spectacle being carried out below, a slave master stepped into the box of the Earl of Fornich, anticipating some half-hearted display of wealth that would amount to nothing. The Earl, despite his courtly rank and flaunted means, was not a particularly wealthy man, and in Crane's few dealings with him Castiwerry had been less than a high end client. What few slaves he purchased were cheap, as slaves went, and almost exclusively of the variety suited for pleasure. Crane almost felt sorry for the girls, if only because they'd had to attend to the belligerent man's endless prattling. As it was, the slave most likely to be talked about, the giantess below, was very much outside whatever meagre sum the Earl could possibly conjure up, the slave master ill inclined to even contemplate giving her up for less than he'd paid for her in the first place.

So it was an interesting surprise that he found himself coming to this box not at Castiwerry's request but someone far more influential. How the Earl had come by such a prominent acquaintance was a mystery, but far be it for Crane to question opportunity when it presented itself. The Earl was there of course, though distracted by some woman or other who seemed to at least be faking her enjoyment well enough to fool the man. It was the two elves, the woman in particular, who caught the slaver's attention near instantly. For a moment, his eyes played the part of a man, roaming the she-elf's form and attire with a mind for the tantalizing flesh only barely concealed. But then it was the merchant's gaze that followed, the promise of coin more alluring to Lothis than any pleasure of the flesh, and he was a merchant before all else. He had almost thought he'd heard the whispered request wrong, that someone so fabulously wealthy would ask for him by name, at when such an expensive slave was playing her part upon the sands.

"Lady Q'amarand. It is a pleasure. Lothis Crane, a most humble slave master, at your service." The man bowed low, a merchant's smile on his face that fooled no one. Any with even half an ounce of sense knew the merchant was more at the service of the elvish woman's coin, or the promise of it. "I must admit I could scarcely believe my ears when I heard of your summons. How might I be of aid?"

Below, the shouts of combat resumed once more, the slave master's eyes darting away from the elf only long enough to watch as his giantess found another man within her grasp, this one lifted into the air and met with a punishing headbutt that seemed to leave him addled. He could see the poor man flailing weakly with his weapon, even connecting against the woman's side, but she seemed content to ignore the blows entirely, the sword not even piercing her skin. Worry nagged at his mind then, for just a moment, that maybe it might have been better to pay the death price for the slaves, to let the giantess show off her full might without restraint.

 

[thefungirl]

Watching the gladiatorial conflict with renewed interest, Laurel saw that the lack of a weapon did little to hamper the giantess as she squared off against the men that surrounded her. She had already dispatched three of the men, two of which did not appear likely to get up or re-engage, and she was facing off against another. She moved with purpose and a speed that belied her size. Her attacks were brutal, and yet Laurel sensed that she was holding back, which was to be expected under the circumstances. The traders couldn't be expected to make a profit if all their merchandise was dead, after all. The elf couldn't help but wonder just how glorious the giantess would be if she was not restrained by the unspoken rules of the day, how much blood would be spilled already, how many bones broken.

Yes, the giantess was impressive, without a doubt, and yet it was the 'rumor' that Morgan had whispered in her ear that had peaked Laurel's interest. She had heard of such things of course, though she had never seen it with her own eyes. If true, the giantess would be exactly the sort of play thing the elf would delight in adding to her menagerie. But was it true or was it just something designed to elicit interest so that the owner might drive up the price. Every one loved an oddity, after all, and Laurel was far from the only wealthy client that had an interest in darker pursuits.

"Lady Q'amarand. It is a pleasure. Lothis Crane, a most humble slave master, at your service," a man said from her left. At just less than five feet in height, Laurel was short and petite even for an elf, so she was used to looking up at others, so it did not bother her that the slave trader loomed over her. Her money, or her father's money if one insisted, was enough to place her above most any man or woman she encountered, height be damned. "I must admit I could scarcely believe my ears when I heard of your summons. How might I be of aid?"

After sizing the man up, Laurel had turned her attention back to the giantess who was nearly finished with the men who had been set against her. "I am interested in your gladiator, slave master. I would have you tell me from where she comes and how she comes to be enslaved to you."

Turning back to the man and fixing her gaze upon him, Laurel added, "I want to know everything you can tell me about her. Everything."

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

Crane hesitated at the question. It wasn't an unfair one, or even an unexpected line of questioning, while many could care less about the origins of a slave, others were more keen on finding out all they could. The Lady Q'amarand seemed the latter, if only for this one case. His hesitation stemmed, rather, from not knowing nearly as much as he would have liked. He had knowledge of the giantess of course, but it was second-hand at best, even more removed as to her origins. Still, he wouldn't deny the Lady her request, if only in the hopes that something he said would result in a purchase.

"I'd be happy to provide you the information you seek. As you've no doubt seen, the giantess is a capable gladiator, she's fought in arenas the length and breadth of the continent. Opponents of all kinds have fallen at her hands, minotaurs, ogres, even once a troll. She's well muscled, strong of course, tremendous stamina, excellent for all kinds of work, not just fighting. Among the gladiators she is known as Groz, a dwarvish word I think, though I profess I don't know the meaning. She's had it as far as I've known her, and she responds well enough to it. Any attempts I've made to learn of any other name, her birth name perhaps, have been met with... difficulty. Still, she's a profitable investment, I assure you. Plenty of wins, certainly more than any losses she's had while in my possession."

There's a pause, as if Crane is considering saying something, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he sighs, almost theatrically, clearly trying to make it seem like he'd rather not mention what he's about to.

"I must say, for transparencies sake, that she eats a truly staggering amount. It would be amazing if it weren't eating me out of house and home. Coupled with the necessary guards to keep an eye on her, just in case you understand, and the costs of keeping her start to stack rather quickly. I say this only to ensure you are aware of the costs you'd be taking on, certainly she's worth the price, if you can find any who'd be willing to face her in the arena. She's fit after all, in perfect health as far as I can tell, I'm no doctor of course. A bit, ah... prideful still. Being a giant, it's made it rather difficult to break her will in the same ways one might a regular slave, but it hasn't stopped her gaining a small following among the arena crowds. Certainly many enjoy watching her toss full grown men about like they were children."

It was clear the man had no clue what the young elf woman was truly interested in, instead trying to sell the half-giant woman as a gladiator. It was with little effort that he easily passed over mentioning anything she was actually trying to find out, such as the rumor that had garnered her interest in the first place. But the giant's exhibition was done, the slave woman in question being collected and returned to the cage beneath the pits. Crane hardly hesitated at all, a large smile extending across his lips as he made a sweeping gesture towards the entryway to the private box.

"If your ladyship wishes, perhaps you'd enjoy a closer look at the giantess?"

It was a presumption, perhaps even an outright insult. That a slave master, not even a truly influential one, would think to assume something of a proper noble lady would normally be an outrage. But Crane was willing to take the risk, the risk that the stare leveled by the Lady Q'amarand at the giantess was more than just a merely passing interest. It would be quite the deal to be made, with a little luck perhaps even an inroad to even more profitable deals in the future. One needed to take the risks to reap the rewards. He only hoped the young elf was amiable enough to humor him and ignore the suggested slight against her.

 

[thefungirl]

Laurel quickly accepted the slave trader's offer to take a closer look at the gladiator, "And, Crane, no need to clean her up first. Bring her as she is," the diminutive elf instructed before sending the man on his way.

After a brief volley of words with her host, Laurel and her two companions were escorted down into the bowels of the arena where they were shown to a viewing room. While the majority of such rooms were little more than small stone alcoves with a bench against one wall and a hook set in the floor, the room that Laurel, Ferra and Morgan were shown to was carpeted and the bench, while still crude and hard, was covered with fabric and a cushion. We wouldn't want the noble backsides to be discomforted while selecting slaves, the elf thought with amusement as they filed into the room.

There was a hook in the floor, two in the back wall opposite the bench, and a final one in the ceiling, iron by the look of them and thick. A few moments after the arrived, Lady Q'amarand and her companions were joined by Crane and a moment later the giantess herself was led into the room, a metal collar around her neck attached to a long, heavy chain which was then latched to one of the hooks on the back wall, keeping her tethered and unable to move more than a few feet from it. Her hands were bound behind her, though after the display in the arena, Laurel doubted the cloth bindings around her wrist could actually contain the woman if she wished to free herself.

As requested, the giantess was still dressed as she had been at the end of the fight, and she had not been cleaned up before being brought down. She was still covered in a light layer of sweat, as well as dirt and a small, but delightful amount of blood. After securing the female gladiator, the guards left to wait outside in the hall. Crane remained.

Laurel stared at the giantess for a long moment before turning her attention to the slave trader. "I should like her on her knees. After that, you may wait outside with the guards while I inspect her."

 

[WeaverofWorlds]

She'd been brought into a viewing room without the usual bucket of water getting dumped over her head. It wasn't a particularly unusual request as things went, some liked to see their potential purchase still covered in the results of victory. For her, it was a minor discomfort, she was used to days without a proper bath, sometimes do to travel, other times because it was difficult to find something large enough to accommodate her body. So it was that she didn't protest at all upon being led away from the usual after fight ritual.

It was the grand furnishings that caught her attention upon first arriving. It was usually only dirt and wood, but instead the giantess found her bare feet brushing against carpet. It was novel, clearly the buyers were richer than most, yet as the chain was locked into the wall and her hands bound with cloth, she couldn't help but feel like she was still being underestimated. That's not to say she hadn't any designs to do anything, but the cloth wasn't worth mentioning as bindings went, and she knew from experience that while the iron chain wouldn't snap, the stone wall was far less resilient to her own brute strength. It would certainly hurt, and it wasn't a particularly quick process, but get a good ten minutes to throw her full weight and strength behind the task and she'd be free of the wall. Still, as amusing as the thought was, and it certainly brought a small smile to her lips, she turned her attention instead to the alvs.

They were finally dressed, poised, and not unlike any other alv the giantess had ever met. They were not a common choice for gladiators, too delicate was the usual rumor about the fighters. Those few that were tended to dance about, their movements a mesmerizing performance just as much as a deadly art. But from what she knew, alvs were more likely to be slaves for pleasure or craftmanship. Certainly she'd never known an alv to be slave owners. There were three here, a male and two females, and she thought it odd that it was the smallest that seemed to command the most respect, watching as Crane babbled on about her appearance or her strength or her looks. While the other two were dressed it was could be considered clothing, the little one was wearing... well, practically nothing. She supposed it must be some tradition or thing the alvs did, though she couldn't for the life of her think why that would be. The little one looked more like a pleasure slave than a rich woman, perhaps merely a tagger on for one of the others, a thought that was banished as she spoke up.

"I should like her on her knees. After that, you may wait outside with the guards while I inspect her."

The words brought a narrowing of the eyes, the giantess' pride rising in defiance at the words. That she thought her words would be followed with the merest wave of her hand... But it was Crane that allowed her pride to cool. He stepped forward, notably well out of her potential reach, his mouth opening, closing, and then opening once more before any words finally emerged. But it was his eyes, the subtle request that she play along, the almost begging quality to them that had the scowl threatening to emerge disappear entirely.

"Kneel, if you would. And do be on your best behavior."

There was a pause then, as the giantess eyes him critically. Then she slowly dropped, her knees settling on the carpet. Even kneeling she found herself nearly the same height as the little alv, and with the way Crane bowed to her before he left she supposed that made the little alv the one to impress. That meant the other two were pointless to whatever efforts she could make, unless they two were potential buyers. A glance at both showed them uninterested, or at least differing to the imperious air of their companion.

Silence descended over the room then, the giantess content to match the little alv's gaze, keeping quiet until spoken to, as was her "best behavior".