3rd of Summer, 515 AV
He scribbled on a peace of paper. The sheet was plain and the ink was plain. Perfect. With his feathered quill he could do a lot with a plain peace of paper - make it plain no more, fill it with excitement by intricate words all stringed together. He was a master at making even the most mundane of things exciting. He'd never really gotten into writing, and yet even so, here he was. He felt that perhaps he was practicing for a love letter, or a message to people who were separated by vast distances. He wasn't sure the intention yet, all he knew was that when he was free, he would write letters to all the important people in his life that were still alive. First and foremost would have to be his bigger brother, because even though the man so failed him in his time of need, for all his life he'd been there. Rhaenon deserved to know that his little Caesarion was okay - just like Caesarion deserved to know what sort of things Rhaenon was up to. What fun little schemes.
Today was Vox's birthday, but he didn't even notice. He stopped caring about things like that a while ago. The longer he'd been in shackles, the less he thought about silly things such as holidays. It was all instead about what he could do to improve his situation. Things like gifts - handouts - didn't exist for those on the bottom of society.
For now, he simply attempted to practice his usage of words. Poetry. Interesting sentences he remembered. Quotes from famous people. Stories of Gods. Little things that didn't matter to the sort of people he wanted to write to. But, these things mattered to him, in keeping him sane during his current predicament.
"Vox," the master called. Emarus Telemaran, his most beloved undead Lord. "Yes, my dear master?" He asked in response, the man opening the door and entering his slave's small room. "How well do I feed you, by human standards?" The man asked. Or, the former man. The slave raised an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders. As of current, he was topless with tight leather wristbands on each arm and a simple copper collar around his neck. He was muscular, and appeared fairly healthy compared to the vast majority of slaves. Anyone could tell that he wasn't quite starved, but they might also notice that he certainly didn't look in perfect shape. He'd become paler since he came to Sahova. His hair had become darker, and his face had become so cold or grim half the time that he stopped caring to make unique facial expressions. He looked like a man in the middle between alive and dead, not in form, but in aura. He had never been so absolutely drained before.
"You feed me well enough for me to manage. I ate better when I was free, but that's to be expected. Why do you ask?" He wasn't quite sure if Telemaran was here to downgrade or upgrade his diet. Maybe he wanted Vox to praise him for his overt kindness. To be honest, Emarus was kind for a Nuit master, even if his intentions were incredibly cold and the intention was always exploitation. For property, Caesarion was treated well, and that was worthy of appreciation. "Well, I would like you to buff up. Your body type is attractive I'm sure by pulser standards, but I rather prefer my Vox violent looking. Since you've told me your diet is adequate, I shall warn you that I may decrease it unless you heed this order. If you do, however, then perhaps I will even increase it." He smiled his fake, deathly smile, then he turned around and left the room. That was his order: build up the body and become strong.
That didn't sound too difficult, but in reality, he had not the faintest clue where to start. "Okay, uh, meat. I have some meat in my diet. Water's not hard to come by, I get enough of it to last me. I don't know anything else though . . . ? Would Emarus know? Would his books know? Does he have any slaves that were formerly bodybuilders? Ugh," He gently thud his head against the desk, sighing. He had been so pampered for the first while since he got here, and had become a rather lazy slave. Sure, he exercised, but only based on what he'd learned in Ravok to maintain a lean physique. He wasn't sure about expanding on his body type and gaining strength. He had always trained himself to be . . . nimble. Not brutish.
The slave stood up, undoing the hook that bound him to the chain in his room. Usually it remained unlocked, but Emarus liked him to have it on until he planned to do his tasks for the day. Once Vox went back into the room and put it on, he was done, and the master would be enraged if he was found wandering outside past that point. He had to leave with an intended motive and if he did not fulfill his daily goal, that was his own fault. It was difficult for someone as indecisive as Vox, but it was still rather generous as far as slaves were concerned.
He opened the door and began to wander through the home, heading towards his master's somewhat vast library. Most of the books were silly things to keep Telemaran entertained. There were comedies, dramas, historical writings and personal anecdotes by famous people. Then, there were books on magic, especially hypnotism and auristics. Body training didn't seem to be something a Nuit would have in their home, especially not one such as Emarus, and not one living in Sahova. Still, Vox looked, until he recognized the sheet of paper that was blatantly atop Telemaran's reading table. It had an image of a man, a fairly muscular one, then a dietary plan and a training regimen. Perhaps the master wrote this himself to guide his curious little minx, or maybe he'd gotten this from someone else. Regardless, he knew that it was intended for him, so he had no trouble simply taking it from the table and using it as a guideline.
"Okay, so . . . thirty minutes of weight lifting daily to maintain the physique. But that's just maintain. Building it in the first place is probably more intensive. Hours." He already knew some of the principles on here, as he exercised somewhat frequently, just to a much lesser degree. He knew of balanced breathing and muscle strength allocation. The sheet he was reading from made things seem pretty simple, however. A routine weight lifting exercise, tens if not hundreds of times over for a long period of time. Start with smaller weights, expand onto larger ones. It was better to start healthier and safer, so for someone with a somewhat athletic body type, he figured he'd begin with an only somewhat above average par of weights.
Now, did they have any in this house . . . ?
"Master Telemaran," Vox called, wondering as to where Emarus had gone. He was usually in this very library, but it seemed that wasn't quite the case today. The slave explored more of the house, but without the ability to find his master.
"Vox," Ameer called to him. "The master left you weights in the pens. He wants you to exercise in there, for fear of your sweat leaking onto his floors." The other slave informed him only of what he was supposed to, then continued with his duties. He was now in charge of cleaning the master's home and keeping things well in order, since the other slave, Mayana, was near her limits and the end of her life. She was probably to be experimented on from this point forward. "Alright. Thank you, Ameer." He smiled at the other boy from Ravok, then passed by him and into the pens, where he found weights adequate for his current strength level. He decided that he'd focus on the arms.
Picking up the weights, inhaling and exhaling, he began his initial reps.
He scribbled on a peace of paper. The sheet was plain and the ink was plain. Perfect. With his feathered quill he could do a lot with a plain peace of paper - make it plain no more, fill it with excitement by intricate words all stringed together. He was a master at making even the most mundane of things exciting. He'd never really gotten into writing, and yet even so, here he was. He felt that perhaps he was practicing for a love letter, or a message to people who were separated by vast distances. He wasn't sure the intention yet, all he knew was that when he was free, he would write letters to all the important people in his life that were still alive. First and foremost would have to be his bigger brother, because even though the man so failed him in his time of need, for all his life he'd been there. Rhaenon deserved to know that his little Caesarion was okay - just like Caesarion deserved to know what sort of things Rhaenon was up to. What fun little schemes.
Today was Vox's birthday, but he didn't even notice. He stopped caring about things like that a while ago. The longer he'd been in shackles, the less he thought about silly things such as holidays. It was all instead about what he could do to improve his situation. Things like gifts - handouts - didn't exist for those on the bottom of society.
For now, he simply attempted to practice his usage of words. Poetry. Interesting sentences he remembered. Quotes from famous people. Stories of Gods. Little things that didn't matter to the sort of people he wanted to write to. But, these things mattered to him, in keeping him sane during his current predicament.
"Vox," the master called. Emarus Telemaran, his most beloved undead Lord. "Yes, my dear master?" He asked in response, the man opening the door and entering his slave's small room. "How well do I feed you, by human standards?" The man asked. Or, the former man. The slave raised an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders. As of current, he was topless with tight leather wristbands on each arm and a simple copper collar around his neck. He was muscular, and appeared fairly healthy compared to the vast majority of slaves. Anyone could tell that he wasn't quite starved, but they might also notice that he certainly didn't look in perfect shape. He'd become paler since he came to Sahova. His hair had become darker, and his face had become so cold or grim half the time that he stopped caring to make unique facial expressions. He looked like a man in the middle between alive and dead, not in form, but in aura. He had never been so absolutely drained before.
"You feed me well enough for me to manage. I ate better when I was free, but that's to be expected. Why do you ask?" He wasn't quite sure if Telemaran was here to downgrade or upgrade his diet. Maybe he wanted Vox to praise him for his overt kindness. To be honest, Emarus was kind for a Nuit master, even if his intentions were incredibly cold and the intention was always exploitation. For property, Caesarion was treated well, and that was worthy of appreciation. "Well, I would like you to buff up. Your body type is attractive I'm sure by pulser standards, but I rather prefer my Vox violent looking. Since you've told me your diet is adequate, I shall warn you that I may decrease it unless you heed this order. If you do, however, then perhaps I will even increase it." He smiled his fake, deathly smile, then he turned around and left the room. That was his order: build up the body and become strong.
That didn't sound too difficult, but in reality, he had not the faintest clue where to start. "Okay, uh, meat. I have some meat in my diet. Water's not hard to come by, I get enough of it to last me. I don't know anything else though . . . ? Would Emarus know? Would his books know? Does he have any slaves that were formerly bodybuilders? Ugh," He gently thud his head against the desk, sighing. He had been so pampered for the first while since he got here, and had become a rather lazy slave. Sure, he exercised, but only based on what he'd learned in Ravok to maintain a lean physique. He wasn't sure about expanding on his body type and gaining strength. He had always trained himself to be . . . nimble. Not brutish.
The slave stood up, undoing the hook that bound him to the chain in his room. Usually it remained unlocked, but Emarus liked him to have it on until he planned to do his tasks for the day. Once Vox went back into the room and put it on, he was done, and the master would be enraged if he was found wandering outside past that point. He had to leave with an intended motive and if he did not fulfill his daily goal, that was his own fault. It was difficult for someone as indecisive as Vox, but it was still rather generous as far as slaves were concerned.
He opened the door and began to wander through the home, heading towards his master's somewhat vast library. Most of the books were silly things to keep Telemaran entertained. There were comedies, dramas, historical writings and personal anecdotes by famous people. Then, there were books on magic, especially hypnotism and auristics. Body training didn't seem to be something a Nuit would have in their home, especially not one such as Emarus, and not one living in Sahova. Still, Vox looked, until he recognized the sheet of paper that was blatantly atop Telemaran's reading table. It had an image of a man, a fairly muscular one, then a dietary plan and a training regimen. Perhaps the master wrote this himself to guide his curious little minx, or maybe he'd gotten this from someone else. Regardless, he knew that it was intended for him, so he had no trouble simply taking it from the table and using it as a guideline.
"Okay, so . . . thirty minutes of weight lifting daily to maintain the physique. But that's just maintain. Building it in the first place is probably more intensive. Hours." He already knew some of the principles on here, as he exercised somewhat frequently, just to a much lesser degree. He knew of balanced breathing and muscle strength allocation. The sheet he was reading from made things seem pretty simple, however. A routine weight lifting exercise, tens if not hundreds of times over for a long period of time. Start with smaller weights, expand onto larger ones. It was better to start healthier and safer, so for someone with a somewhat athletic body type, he figured he'd begin with an only somewhat above average par of weights.
Now, did they have any in this house . . . ?
"Master Telemaran," Vox called, wondering as to where Emarus had gone. He was usually in this very library, but it seemed that wasn't quite the case today. The slave explored more of the house, but without the ability to find his master.
"Vox," Ameer called to him. "The master left you weights in the pens. He wants you to exercise in there, for fear of your sweat leaking onto his floors." The other slave informed him only of what he was supposed to, then continued with his duties. He was now in charge of cleaning the master's home and keeping things well in order, since the other slave, Mayana, was near her limits and the end of her life. She was probably to be experimented on from this point forward. "Alright. Thank you, Ameer." He smiled at the other boy from Ravok, then passed by him and into the pens, where he found weights adequate for his current strength level. He decided that he'd focus on the arms.
Picking up the weights, inhaling and exhaling, he began his initial reps.
