Solo Eyes of the Insane, Part Three

[Caesarion]

1st of Summer, 515 AV
There were seven forms of conditioning, Vox knew - and he planned to dash, driven, into the prospect of them all. If he was ever to be a free man, he would need to surpass Telemaran at everything he was skilled at. Every single proficiency needed to be overshadowed by Vox's own, whether the craft be by the voice or by the sword or the spell. He knew that Sahova valued power more than it did anything - that was how they had become so magnificent at everything they did. To begin with, he needed to craft himself to be an expert at the magic of hypnotism. One thing that was necessary to begin with was that he retain some semblance of familiarity, even despite training in hypnotism in a far different environment. He began as he always did, or at least as he always did before venturing deeper into a dark magic, he laid his worries down and prayed before the Goddess that allowed him to endure this melancholy life.

"Priskil," he whispered the name. "It has been such a long time since I have given you proper prayer. I apologize for the silence in me - and the sudden change of my environment. Things have become . . . difficult, far moreso than I imagined. I never expected for the tables to turn so fully. I rather thought I'd die before I saw this day come." He was sorrowful of course, though he didn't let it leak out into his voice. Sorrow was in fact weakness, and he would only ever let it spill through if it was to reinforce his resolve or his beliefs. He didn't pray to Priskil now to fill himself with sadness, but instead that she might grant him a little bit more hope in the coming days. He severely lacked in that fanciful prospect: hope.

"I'm sorry for failing in my ambition to bring others freedom. Mheera and Lhysi were the only ones I managed to put on a better path. Before I could free any more, my own weakness caught up with me and I was taken a slave on the path to Zeltiva. I lost it all. I lost Aoren, what little chance I had to get back into his good graces. I felt something for him and I lost that too: love, even though it wasn't infinite and I had no good reason to let it leak. I love too easily, I know. I trust too easily. I believe too easily. In others, in myself. I have proven that there is no reason for me to believe in myself. I am forlorn." The man was exceptionally drained. Everything that had happened turned his voice a deeper pitch, near emptiness, though he desperately tried to remain hopeful. Ironically, praying to his Goddess had only made him feel lonely now, because a part of him imagined that not even she could take him away from his current predicament. His only companion was the man who held him in shackles, and nothing and no one had the power to pierce the laws of Sahova to free him. There was no savior beyond the sea. He had to rely on himself.

Perhaps he had never truly been an adult before he became a slave. He always weakly depended on others to do things for him. He had used Rhaenon's money to get to Syliras, and Aoren's courage to take him to Zeltiva. Gallagher was the one who protected him from the crazy mage who taught him hypnosis, and Max and Argos were the ones to fend off the slavers in their initial attempt to steal away "Caesarion". People had fought for him, bled for him, died for him. He had manipulated the hearts of many people on the pretext that he was their best friend, or their brother, or their lover. He had drained everyone by the source. Yet, they all prospered, and he was the one who had been drained by the end of it. He didn't even notice it, but by the time he was done stepping on others, the only one who had lost out was him. He'd had his dreams sucked out of him.

It was too much, that thought. He wished he could beg to have all that time back, so that maybe he could try everything on his own. That wouldn't happen, though. It was time for him to fight for the freedom that he lost.

[Caesarion]

Perhaps his greatest remaining talent was his ability to always live independent of suspicion. Instead of simply hiding his practices and training via stray cats or some other weak animal breed, wholly with the potential of being caught subtly training his magic by his master, Vox was straightforward with Emarus Telemaran. He asked him, in earnest, if he could hone his abilities as a mage in order to better serve the Nuit. Despite the inner wailing of the slave, on the outside he always appeared strong and diligent, and utterly loyal. His games were not perfect, but they were solid, enough so that the master generally obliged him when he asked. Telemaran wanted the ultimate slave after all - handsome, young, and powerful. One who could destroy the Nuit's enemies with both his machinations and blasts of lightning and flame. He wanted his "Vox" to be an unparalleled agent of his ambition. The thing was . . . the slave knew this, and used it as a part of his own scheme, to break his shackles and live in the glory of freedom.

The master supplied him with another slave, a young and attractive boy named Ameer. He had golden brown hair and beautiful green eyes, ones that seemed to be kissed by a ring of blue. His skin was tan, and his body type slim but athletic. He was not as built or as pretty as Vox, but he was certainly not a slave that was sold cheaply. "Are you looking to begin a male exclusive brothel?" He smirked, glancing at his master. "No, Vox. I don't believe that a brothel would do all too well in Sahova." Telemaran was a pompous man in public but he was willing to indulge his companions in private. He had not necessarily been anything cruel to Vox. In fact, he'd say the treatment was something of a retainer to a prized possession. Not cruel, in fact somewhat kind, but only as kind as a possession deserves. And when the possession breaks, it will simply be thrown away and replaced. That was what Vox believed his fate indeed was.

"Why all the pretty man-slaves, then, my beloved master?" He quietly spoke, tapping at the cheeks of the boy Ameer. He looked like he came from a familiar place. Like from Ravok, but not in the high gardens and chattering towers of the proclaimed nobility - perhaps he was instead a child of the tragic poverty that came below, a slave, born for exploitation.

"The heart cannot be honest, Caesarion. I ask myself, too, why I make investments into so many pretty Pulsers. I do not know, I only know that their presence pleases me. It's perhaps the feeling of being surrounded by hopeful boys with great ambition that I will inevitably stamp out. Maybe it's my inner sadism." The master had an eerie grin on his face, one that made Vox uncomfortable. The slave rolled his eyes at the undead mage and looked to the other slave - the one with the curly, golden-brown hair and the pretty face and kind eyes. He hadn't said a word, he was quiet. But, he stared at Vox the entire time. A pleading look in his eyes. "Don't break me." That was what he screamed, but without words - only Vox knowing it was what he meant to say, or would say, if the master wasn't here.

The other slave merely smiled at him. "Master, slaves do not have ambition. Any such thing puts us into a precarious position by which we cannot escape. I beg that you do not worry for ambition, but instead the purpose of these slaves. Perhaps the Nuit may not need or want bodies for pleasure, but others might. Pretty people like this are built for a purpose. We shouldn't dirty their hands with gravel and grime, but instead only with sweat." He was always a wild one, that Vox-Caesarion, always plotting and scheming and having fun doing it. He wanted an excuse to see this Ameer more often, to use him for hypnosis more frequently, and he had found an excuse for it. "Also, you're going to give me an identity crisis. Don't you know they tell dog owners not to call their dogs multiple names? Cease with Caesarion. I'm your Vox, Telemaran. The past me is gone."

The mage was practically giggling at the always sarcastic and ridiculous words of the slave. He knew this was how Vox pleasured himself - by constantly trying to annoy everyone around him, making rash requests and picking at people's scabs. This personality was perhaps why Telemaran coveted him so much; the two of them were perfect for one another, in the strangest of ways. "Right, right, Vox," he whispered. "Now, are you telling me you would have me turn Ameer into a body-slave? And for who? What sort of Pulser here would waste their time petching a slave?" He already knew the answer, but he enjoyed Vox's words too much to not let him speak it himself. "Why your beloved Vox, of course. I have needs, you know. Didn't you know that in Ravok, masters awarded their favored slaves with the bodies of the lesser ones? It made them obedient. Pleasure is something that every man alive seeks." He wagged his eyebrows at the master Emarus, and the undead mage snorted in return. "Fine. But don't damage him. I'll only be leasing him to you as a temporary gift. At the end of the day, my slaves are my slaves."

Vox nodded. "True, true," he grinned. "Yours is indeed synonymous with 'yours'." Sarcasm, as always. The master simply chuckled and left the room, the two slaves left to their own devices.

[Caesarion]

Their eyes stared at one another. Ameer expected simply that his clothes would be undone and he would be used. He had not been used for such a purpose before, but he always knew the day would come, and so he didn't fear such an event. If anything, he was hopeful for it. The boy wasn't a regular slave. "What did you think of all that, Ameer? Do your eyes lie to me? They seem passive at the moment, but shouldn't there be fear and illness taking place behind the veil of your pupils?" He knew that no one wanted to be forced to do anything - to use, to be used, to engage in acts that did not quite flatter their humanity. Ameer surely didn't desire for what was coming, and so it was unique to Vox that he remained so quiet.

"I don't mind my future. Unlike you, I have been a slave for a very long time." His expression didn't change, except for a moment as he blinked. Vox was curious as to how he knew of his history, and so he decided to ask where he gathered his information. "How do you know about me?" He questioned. The other slave smiled, perhaps as if he was also the type to enjoy paranoia in the people he was speaking to, much like Vox. "The master told me, of course. He tells everyone of you - his prized slave." Ameer's words were laced with a certain attitude that made his demeanor seem bizarre. At least to most. But Vox knew that the young man was simply . . . testing the waters. It was how most slaves acted around other, new ones, in order to see whether they were hostile or friendly. "He has told me nothing of you, Ameer," he whispered, "but I would like to find out on my own." The man raised his hand and ruffled the other slave's curly hair, moving in to plant him a kiss on the cheek.

And so, the first stage of conditioning would begin. "Tell me about yourself - you can trust me." He whispered the words but loud enough to be heard, and in his words there was Res, manipulating the mind of Ameer to take his speech to heart. To turn simple words into nearly commands, and make the slave desire to trust the other. That was the first stage of conditioning, and today, he planned to use them all.

"I am Ameer," he replied. "From Ravok, like you. Enslaved when I was nine. My father was wealthy but he was killed by one of the big slaver houses for competing with them in trade. They took me as their prize." He didn't seem to mind explaining his history. Vox knew it wasn't even that his hypnosis was augmenting him much. The man was an open book. "Nine. That was when I first began to use magic. How old are you now, Ameer?" He asked. "Twenty," the other slave replied. "Young. I left Ravok at around that age. I'm only slightly older now, but you'd be surprised how much knowledge you gain from twenty to twenty-five." He thought, for a moment, about what else he wanted to ask. "Have you ever been enjoyed by someone else before? Your master or mistress, for example?" Vox wasn't so sure that would even happen, but he wondered what sort of role Ameer had living in Ravok. "No," he whispered. "I wasn't that kind of slave. I was more like a dog to my master. I would play with his children and be used as a demonstration when guiding them to the path of manhood. I wasn't really a worker or a body-slave. Just that." He didn't seem to mind that either. Perhaps after so long, one simply stopped caring.

"I don't have much of a use, I suppose. So, Telemaran managed to buy me for a relatively cheap sum. I suppose I know why he bothered, now." He stared blankly into Vox's eyes. "Why's that?" The older slave asked. "Haven't you ascertained? You practically read the master's mind. I'm here to be your reward for being a good boy. That's why he picked me from Ravok, off the hands of a house similar to yours. I'm fairly certain he also wants to use me to spy on you to gain your motives. A precaution. I've been in this business for far too long." He was forward, exceptionally so. Vox appreciated that - though he didn't entirely trust him, and so by saying that he was probably a spy, he figured he might be trying to get Vox to admit to ill motives as if his admission would make the other slave trust him.

"Well, there's nothing to admit. Why don't we use you for your primary purpose instead?" Vox smiled, patting him on the shoulder and leaning in to whisper into his ears. "You can trust me," he repeated again, conditioning him further. He knew that somehow Ameer felt the smallest burn of desire, and as Vox's hands caressed his cheek, he invoked hypnosis to trigger an 'emotional response'. The second stage of conditioning.

[Caesarion]

"A gentle heart cradles a calm mind." The actions Vox found himself delving into were ones of extreme peculiarity, to him, being the way he was for so long. Did being chained and desperate for only two seasons really craft him into something so new? Were his actions cruel? Were his words harsh? He didn't entirely know. Did desperation make unkind actions more appropriate? Did it validate them as being acceptable? "Ameer, are you privy to the bodies of men?" He asked, as his palm stroked down the side of the slave's face, his thumb rubbing down his neck, to his adam's apple, to his collarbone. "Yes," the slave answered. "More... more than most, I'd say," he admitted almost shamefully. "You should know this - that I worship Nikali. Slaves should assist one another in times of need, whatever that need may be." He spoke as if he resigned himself. As if this was just 'assisting a comrade'. That was not the way such things were meant to be, and Vox found that answer as saddening as it was disgusting. Sexuality, to him, was a facet of humanity. It linked chains to love, to purity, to family, to joy, to kindness. Sexuality was not so base as pleasure was - pleasure was only an outcome, it should never be the reason for operations. That was, at least, what he believed.

"Am I assisting you?" He asked, so that he may know if the other slave wanted this or felt its necessity. Even though Ameer would become a target for hypnosis and a source of physical enjoyment, this relationship was one he expected to be built based on . . . mutual respect, enjoyment, and mutual giving. Whatever Ameer wanted, he would also attempt to provide, otherwise he'd feel as if a slaver again - and that was resigning his humanity. But he also wondered if such thoughts could be generated. If he could sway someone's feelings so that they might enjoy an experience more or less. If Ameer's answer could be just as true, but determined by Vox's will. Would it be cruelty still, if he manipulated his emotions but with benevolence intended?

He placed forward the third stage of conditioning, sudden thought. As Vox willed it, and as Ameer looked into his beautiful olive eyes, the young man would hear in his mind: "I want him." He didn't question the authenticity of the thought, because his desires had been leading up to those words regardless. Even though Vox placed the words, he believed the words and their truth became as sturdy as marble. He wanted him. And he would tell him the truth. "You are assisting me," he whispered, though he was almost at a loss of breath - he didn't know why, but he was overwhelmed more profoundly than he had ever been. "Don't think you're committing a crime."

Vox knew it worked. As his fingers ran over the man's chest, he could feel the slave's heart beat faster. Faster. Faster. He could feel the temperature of his body rise, and he felt the 'traction' in his voice decrease. He was no longer himself, but consumed by the sleeping dragon that all men possessed within them. Lust. The vine that tangled itself all over, constricting the brain, the heart. Controlling the functions. Vox knew it too well - and yet he had never indulged it. Not before now. "The heart can be honest," he said, counteracting the words that his master had spoken just earlier. "Desire is real." He didn't know the point of his words, but there they were. With them, too, he sent Ameer deeper in the stages of conditioning. A flash. The slave would remember something that had never once occurred - a vision, of Vox embracing him.

The temptation grew ever stronger. Ameer was holding his arms against Vox's chest at this point, feeling the full effect of the four stages - suggestion, response, thought, and flashing. All of these four quarters combined to reel him in, and he became helpless; the desire that lived in him from before multiplied infinitely, by the tempered hands of his elder slave, the delightful demeanor, the attractive face and the beautiful body - then by the power of magic whispering into his mind. He was . . . altogether riveted. He kissed at Vox's collarbone, then his neck, then his chin, then . . . attempted to kiss at his lips, before the young mage held away his face. The last time he kissed was nearly three years ago, during better days, with a Drykas that stole his heart. This action was just curiosity, temptation, lust. Kisses were for those who loved. Vox didn't really know if he loved anymore.

He just knew that he wanted something. His heart screamed for something more. And he would try every nook and cranny with patient eyes until he found - exactly - just what he needed to set him free.

[Caesarion]

He did not end up going further. No kisses, nor more touches from skin to skin. He simply pecked at Ameer's cheek, then pulled away and moved back against the comfort of his mattress. The slave seemed confused - he was so passionate, then he was nothing, while Ameer felt so strongly now. Was that not what Vox wanted of him? "Are you alright, master?" He asked. Master. "I'm not your master, Ameer. This is a bond between equal men. Equal slaves." His eyes were half-closed, as if he were tired or irritable or a bit of both. He wasn't annoyed with the slave though, but instead with himself - and his half-baked commitments. He was committed to love and chastity, but also to desire and pleasure. He was committed to Priskil and the prospect of kindness and benevolence, but also the self-preserving manipulations of Nikali. Vox had to make choices eventually, but he never found himself ready when the time came.

"I want to fuck and I want to love. I want to protect and I want to destroy. I want to free and I want to control. I am having a difficult time with myself - I cannot recall my ideal self-image." That was his plight. It was an ancient one, possessed by all, because all humanity fought with their nature. Very few were exempt from this war, and those people were perfect and above reproach. "Do you need help deciding, then, my friend?" The slave asked. "Fuck and love. Protect and destroy. Free and control. Do all of these things, but only as your conscience dictates. If you want to be good, then perform these things as if they were good deeds. All of these things can be done for the better good." He spoke true words, surprisingly wise for a slave of his age. Vox raised an eyebrow - he was moved by his words, but also curious as to their origin. "Where did Emarus Telemaran get such a philosophical slave?" He asked. "The high gardens of Ravok. Where did he get you?" Ameer grinned. Caesarion parted his lips to speak, "The high gardens of Ravok."

With their words, they formed a sort of accord. Ameer was taken with Vox, and Vox had found himself feeling a slight obsession for the attractive young man. His mystique. The words he filled the room with. "Would you like to continue?" He asked, biting his lower lip as he stared at the other slave's tan skin. "Yes, Vox," he said silently. "I see." The older slave grabbed the waist of Ameer and straddled him atop his lap, peeling away at his upper attire. He kissed at his jawline and rubbed his fingers over his hips. Then, yet again, he lowered his head against the pillow - pulling away. "That doesn't mean I would like to. Don't require that your partners lack in passion or patience. Always wait. They'll treat you better - you may even find love." He smiled, gently shoving on the man's chest, pushing him away. "Why say 'they' and 'them' and not 'I'? Do you not have love to give, Vox? I thought you wanted to love." He questioned the other, pulling back on his shirt and scooting away from the mage. "I have love," he told him, "but not . . . for you. Never . . . for a slave."

Ameer felt sadness at these words. And, as Ameer felt that sadness and Vox saw that wounded look, he pressed back to his earlier manipulations: emotional response. Augmented that sadness. Made him want to let his heart go. "I have love," he said, "for even a slave." He looked as if he wanted to cry. Vox leaned forward and pulled him back, comforting him as his emotions felt their downward spiral. "I know," the man whispered. "You may love me if you wish."

[Keene Ward]

Grades

“For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.”
-Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene

Caesarion

Skills

Hypnotism +3
Rhetoric +2
Socialization +4
Interrogation +1
Investigation +3
Subterfuge +2
Acting +1
Negotiation +1
Persuasion +3
Politics +1
Teaching +2
Philosophy +2
Observation +3
Flirting +1
Storytelling +1
Seduction +1
Tactics +1

Lores

Ameer: Ravokian Slave

Rewards/Consequences
None


Notes
I'm pretty sure you know, but I thought I'd just point out that hypnotists use djed. :) Also, if you plan to use Ameer in any more threads, you'll need to do a write up for him as a personal or city NPC.
If you have any questions or concerns, please send me a PM!