Flashback Map of the problematique

[Achenar]

“’Did’ he?” Achenar looked at her with a hallowed look in his silver eyes. “Perhaps that’s a half truth, my lady,” he said quietly. “About displeasing him. But he continues to do so, sometimes out of spite, sometimes out of a sick need for it.” He bit his tongue. Speaking ill of his own master in front of a dynast of all things was like to get him far more severely maimed than he currently was. As close to a personal slave as he was, even they were not spared from the Master’s torment and penchant for sadism.

He watched warily as she inspected his nether regions, only to find her reaction abrupt and befuddling. His stare followed her as she turned, likely to mask her face, but the ethaefal noticed her hands trembling almost as much as his had, though from what, he couldn’t guess. But her response to his apology came to mind. “For seeing me like this,” he murmured in her momentary silence.

She is young, Achenar observed, In both experience and body.

Perhaps he had been wrong in assuming all dynasts were raised to be brutal, manipulative puppet-masters. And as he watched her recover her bearings and dive promptly back into her work, he felt something inexplicably soften inside him. The feeling reminded him of another he’d lost long ago, to the Radacke’s brutality.

At her question, he glanced at his legs, stretched and slightly bent on the bed. “No, my lady,” he answered. “I was brought from the Caged Sun.” He wasn’t sure if she was familiar with the name, or even what it was. But in his mental struggle to reveal such a thing to her, he reasoned that it would prove helpful information to her as she worked.

As much as his groin and thighs ached and burned from the wounds inflicted upon him there, he was only glad she had not yet asked to see his backside.
More importantly, however. He disliked focusing on himself, preferring to remain as inconspicuous as a rare commodity such as him could afford. So he mulled over questions in his head, using this as a distraction from the inevitable pain that would follow her ministrations. “Do you enjoy this work, my lady?”

[Verena Lorak]

So this was not the first time then. Much to her alarm, Achenar supported her earlier guess, that his master hurt him for the sake of inflicting pain to others. For the first time, a thought occurred to her that there might be a lot of Dynasts much like this ethaefal’s Radacke. Verena had never imagined it for she had never witnessed such brutality. But if there was one, there was bound to be more. She knew that slaves were not supposed to be treated as their equal. But this was not treating a slave as an object – his master knew full well that he was living, breathing being and capable to feel pain – and it was worse.

How many more slaves suffered the same fate as Achenar without anyone knowing? How many bled in the darkness?

“It’s an odd thing to apologize for,” the healer commented flatly as she tried to place her hand as lightly as possible on the ethaefal’s burned skin. “Stay still” was her only warning. It would probably hurt him upon her touch, but using her gnosis was the easiest and most effective way to reduce the risk of his wound of getting infected. Once she was done, Verena would reach for the salve she had prepared.

“The Caged Sun?” she asked as she opened the jar in her hands. The Lorak had known the city of Kenash all her life, but she wondered why the place didn’t sound familiar. “I have never heard of such a place.”

At the scent of the burn salve, Verena mentally recoiled. It was never one of the more pleasant remedies. She remembered her uncle teaching her how to properly crush the earthworms to make the medicine. Despite its impressive smell, the salve had always proven itself effective for cooling burns. Carefully, the Lorak spread the salve over the angry ZR.

When she heard the question, the Lorak did not even lift her head to answer. “Yes.” Healing was one of the things she could do without having to constantly worry if she was being polite or rude, warm or cold. With her work, she had an excuse to ignore those speaking to her, to respond inappropriately instead of having to carefully form the words inside her mind. So yes, she did enjoy her work.

[Achenar]

At her warning, he clutched the bedsheets in his hard fingers and expelled a hiss from the momentary pain. Pinpricks of the pleasure broken into him sent his heartbeat racing, but he quickly smothered it with a mental blanket. This was not the time, and the rage he felt at such a reaction to the stimulus was unneeded.

Instead, he exhaled, and watched as she continued her mending process, finding it unsurprising to hear the Lorak speak of the Caged sun with unfamiliarity. He’d never seen her there, after all. But he wondered if telling her of such a place would warrant punishment by his master. Judging by her reaction to his injuries, he could assume she didn’t favor such treatment of slaves, but he couldn’t shake the distrust he felt around the elitist class. They thrived on the backs of the destitute.

“I’m not sure that many do, my lady,” the ethaefal finally admitted. He made a face at the salve’s pungent smell, but was otherwise unfazed. “The Caged Sun is where masters go to sate their lust for domination, subjugation and debaucherous excess.” He glanced down at the brand Zaelsen so lovingly supplied him with, his fingers clenched into fists. “Slaves are their master’s canvas. But instead of pain for punishment, it is for sexual gratification.”

He spoke with a vacancy to his voice, his eyes searching for a reaction. For all the work he put in to be a personal slave, he wondered if uttering the wrong thing to a healer would set him back years of that work. She’d given her answer to his question, but it was surprisingly blunt and to the point. He couldn’t muster enough brainpower to mull over another question, and he doubted she would want to be hounded any further. For all he knew, she likely wanted rid of him as quickly as she could.

A damaged, broken ethaefalan slave was no use to anyone, after all.

[Verena Lorak]

Her head tilted the slightest bit as she considered the slave’s words. The Lorak’s violet eyes looked into Achenar’s silvery ones, as if it had all the answers. “So, the sole reason for this place is so that people can do this–” She gestured at him. “–to someone else?” Inflicting pain on others to satisfy their sexual needs. It sounded more disturbing that she imagined. “Where is this Caged Sun?”

Once she figured she had placed the salve evenly, Verena covered the burn with bandages. Treating a burn would need constant effort as the bandages needed to be changed routinely or the ethaefal would risk infection. Would someone who tortured another even care about keeping a slave’s wound clean? She was afraid that she knew the answer to that. After all, if what Achenar said was true, the Radacke would probably be more than happy to let others suffer.

It was something she would have to deal with later.

Her heart had started to pick up as her head spun a little bit. Using her gnosis mark over and over again was not physically exhausting, but something about it was definitely mentally draining. The last time she relied to heavily on Rak’keli’s power she nearly fainted and developed a mild fever the next day. If it was up to her, Verena would have healed everything she could, but that was not an option. She would have to decide which wounds should be priority and frankly, the cuts on Achenar's nether region probably needed the blessing more.

Decidedly, Verena picked up another clean cloth and a bottle of alcohol from a drawer. “How long have you been a slave?” asked the young woman as she doused the cloth. Talking was a mild diversion from pain and it would take most patient’s mind about the treatment they were getting, though she doubted it would be the case with Achenar. He was wounded pretty badly for him to simply take his mind off it. As a second thought, she added, “How old are you, really?” The man looked to be in his adult years, but Verena knew not to be fooled by physical appearances, considering most non-humans age differently then they did.

Whether the ethaefal answered or not, Verena placed a delicate hand on his bent knee and started to clean the whipmarks across his thigh. The least she could do was rub away the dried blood.

[Achenar]

“There is more to it than just pain,” Achenar said, as if he spoke from experience. And in the years he’d been collared, leashed, bound, gagged and whipped at the whims of the masters, he could very well claim to have some knowledge on the matter. “Some seek absolute control, and find pleasure in it. Others can only be pleasured by inflicting. Some enjoy just the bondage, or acting. It differs among the masters.” His own enjoyed the thrill of domination and the power afforded him in such a position.

The ethaefal shifted uncomfortably from the memory and Verena’s touch. His joints still ached and his wounds throbbed like a steady, pounding rhythm, but the worst of it had subsided, and he was able to calm his breathing as the salve was applied over the brand.

Her next question was a cause for pause. He had to recall the days and seasons that had passed since his arrival by caravan. It had felt too long, in his mind. “Seven years I have served, my lady,” the ethaefal answered. He remembered the day he’d been assaulted by the slavers. Rhythern had fought with the fury of a warrior forged by the tenets of the Nykan monks and the steel he wielded. But it was not enough to save Achenar, and he had succumbed as quickly as a damsel. “I am ten years old,” he continued. He knew that such a remark was curious considering his age coincided with children who ran the streets of Kenash. But he understood he was different; ethereal; coveted. He was a creature meant to be owned in the eyes of a dynast.

He twitched as she touched his thigh, and shifted, leaving a stain of blood on the sheets where he’d been sitting. He could almost feel his back creaking as he moved forward. “Are you… releasing me at sunrise, my lady?” He asked her suddenly.

[Verena Lorak]

More to it than just pain. Verena tried to imagine what it was the people visiting the Caged Sun was thinking as they did inflict pain on others for the sake of pleasure. Control, the slave added. She had never imagined exerting absolute control on anyone. Or have she? Verena was a born Dynast, who had been served by slaves all her life. Didn't her way of life itself was exerting total control over some many other people? Truthfully, the young woman had never given it much thought.

Maybe you should have, a soft voice in her mind whispered.

“Ten?” she repeated when Achenar answered her question. “But, you look to be at least a young adult. It made no sense. Do you age quickly?” As a Kenashian, Verena was quite familiar with Kelvics and their short life span, but she wasn’t entirely sure about ethaefals. Even so beaten up, there was still an ethereal beauty from him, like he was not quite of this world.

 Achenar said it had been seven years since he was enslaved. That was more than half of his life as a slave. Seven years of torture like this and this was the first time Verena had ever seen him. Inexpicably, Verena felt the need to help the slave, to ease his struggle somehow. But she did not know how. All Verena could was lessen his pain - and that was only for now.

Once the bandage had covered all of the whiplashes, Verena finished it with a secure knot. “Is it too tight?” she asked as she moved closer to his foot. The healer would press her finger down on one of his toenails, watching the skin underneath blanching. If the red flush of blood returned in less than two ticks, there was no reason to worry that she was cutting off his blood flow.

Once she was finished with one leg, Verena continued the same thing to the other one.

At his sudden question, the young woman glanced up. “No, you are in no condition to be moved around right now and I would rather have you on my watch until your burn marks heal.” Then she remembered the earlier command for her to return the slave. "I can send a message to your master or tell him in person if I have the time," Verena added dismissively. "You might stay here for a few more days."

Finally finished, her eyes ran down the course of the slave's physique one last time. Only then that she realized the splatter of blood on the sheets that she was sure wasn't there a chime ago.

“You are still bleeding. Can you turnover?”

[Achenar]

She sounded incredulous, and Achenar did not fault her that. He was strange, alien and otherworldly. He didn’t fit in the strict confines of mortal lifespans. He sometimes looked back and wondered what it is he truly was. A remnant of a divine plane? A fractured soul?

“Yes, I’m ten,” he reiterated. “I.. don’t age.” He looked at his hands, tracing his fingers with his thumb, the dim light making his flesh glimmer faintly. “I fell to this world from the sky from….” He swallowed. He couldn’t say it. The etheafal exhaled and continued. “In a way, I was ‘born’ like this. I was never a child in body, perhaps in mind. But back then, I was guided by a man from Nyka. He taught me about the world, about nature and people and cities. Though I did not grow in years, I grew in knowledge.”

It was difficult for the slave to remember the times when freedom wasn’t something he took for granted. His life had been simpler then, and in a way, he had a parental figure that cared for him, though rough as it was. Recalling those memories shadowed his eyes, and he looked away, suddenly quiet.

With the bandages secured around his lashes, the ethaefal chanced a glance at her work, and shook his head at her question. “It’s fine,” he assured her, and was surprised at her prompt reaction at his suggestion to leave. Even after the careful prodding, the detached look on her face and in her tone, he had not expected her to vehemently refuse to return him to his master. He felt a churning in his gut that was akin to worry.

“My Master will not be pleased by that, my lady,” the slave murmured. He couldn’t admit that he would be afraid of the Radacke’s inevitable retaliation for such a stark defiance of his request. Zaelsen enjoyed his games, and he certainly enjoyed looking for any reason to play.

He’d assumed she’d finished until he was met with her request to turn over. He looked at her, the only time where shame was written on his face in bold letters. “It’s… honestly nothing,” he reassured her, though instinct and learned behavior afforded him no chance to deny the requests of a dynast. The ethaefal ultimately obeyed, and slowly turned onto his stomach, his arms on the pillow, his head in his hands. The whip marks had settled to a dull throb and his joints still ached, but he was otherwise stable. What was left was his bloodied backside.

[Verena Lorak]

That means he was nearly immortal. It surprised her. Verena had heard here and there about how ethaefals were celestial beings, but to be immortal entirely was another story. Even Akalaks and Kontis age, despite their startlingly long life span. But clearly, he was not invincible considering she spent more than a bell treating his wounds. She wondered if he would heal quickly, or his healing rate was no different than most mortals.

“From what?” Verena asked when the man faltered, completely oblivious to the slave’s reluctance. He fell from the sky as a form of birth. Questions started to crowd her mind about ethaefals. If he was to stay, she would have a lot more time to study him. For now, the young woman was interested in Achenar himself. “Nyka is far away. How did you end up in Kenash?”

Whether or not he answered, Verena refrained from asking him another question for now.

“My Master will not be pleased by that, my lady.”

Not even bothering to look up, Verena replied simply, “My duty is to heal you, not please your master.” Rak’keli had chosen her since the moment of her birth, given her a task to heal those who needed it. That was her only concern. Zorane had told her once that her single-mindedness would get her into trouble one day, but her devotion was not up for discussion.

Completely at ease, Verena inspected the man laid out in front of her. It certainly was not nothing as the slave had claimed. Despite her inexperience, the young woman was not so innocent that she had to ask what might cause such an injury to his backside. It did not look particularly bad and it would have no problem healing itself it seemed. So, the healer simply asked him to return to his earlier position.

“That is all I can do for now,” Verena announced as she turned her back on the ethaefal to rinse her hand in the basin. Her hands moved in a familiar routine, scrubbing off the blood under her nails and between her fingers. She could faintly remember the first time she got her hand covered in blood. She was ten years old.

As she dried her hands, Verena noted that it was almost dawn. “You should not move too much as not to cause yourself more pain. Do not breathe too deeply or your cracked rib might worsen. Tomorrow, I will try to heal more of your wounds. You will be staying for at least three more days for me to make sure that you will not develop an infection. I also prefer to keep you away from your master until you fully heal, considering what he might do to you.” rambled Verena as she went through the list in her head.

“Do you have any more complaints? Anything I might have missed? Anything you want to ask?” The questions were something she was taught to always ask, no matter what. It had proved useful at times, especially for someone who did not have many field experiences, like her.

She would pause for a few moments to wait for him to answer before returning to her things.

It took her almost a chime later that she remembered Achenar was still covered with blood in some places. Extending her arm, Verena handed Achenar a piece of wet cloth. “You can use that to clean yourself. I can help you if you are in too much pain to move too much.” If the slave did not take it, she would simply place it back in the basin. Then, the healer headed to the back of the room where some spare clothes were stored – after all, a handful of their patients came in with their clothing covered in blood. She would place a thin shirt and a pair of linen pants not too different from the one he wore earlier on the table next to his bed.

With barely a glance at her patient, the Lorak started tidying up her tools, cleaning up the blood if anything was stained. So absorbed in her work, the young woman did not notice the handlers re-entering the room, mayhap asking for the return of the ethaefal.

[Konrad Venger]

Nice job! Your work has pleased The Sloth! Achenar XP: Endurance - 2 Observation - 3 Socialization - 4 Investigation - 2 Lore: I Am A Pet, Nothing More The Lorak: Healers but Still Dynasts Why Would a Dynast Care for a Slave's Pain? Verena Lorak: Exception to the Dynast Rule Ethaefals: Ageless and Divine Verena XP: Observation - 4 Leadership - 2 Medicine - 4 Socialization - 2 Investigation - 4 Lore: Medicine: Tallying Up the Damage The Radacke: Cruel Even by Kenash Standards Medicine: Focused Pupils = No Last Head Injury Finding the Cause of Injuries through Questions Zaelsen Radacke: Monster in Human Form The Caged Sun: Debauchery, Subjugation and Sadism Achenar: A Soul in Need of Balm Click Me! : You guys REALLY don't need any critique from me. This flowed well and everything was where it should be. I liked how Achenar's mental state was slowly depicted returning to him, how his senses and language got stronger and more cogent as it went on. Also loved Verena's sass and fire, her odd compassion for a Dynast and Achenar's incomprehension of it. As always, Achy, you break my heart. Beautiful and eternal... and a slave to be carved up for fun. And you bring out EVERY INCH of that pain. Oh, and please make sure you go back and edit your post in the Request Thread to reflect the fact this one is now done and dusted. PM me with any questions and later 'tater!