Nice of You to Drop In... [Murmur]

[Sahiri]

Where: Outside of Ravok
When: 19th of Spring, 511 AV
Who: Murmur, please!

It was barely dawn. The sun wouldn’t be up for a few bells yet, she didn’t think, but what would she know? She hadn’t slept all night. Chisa had no idea where they were, none at all. She thought she had heard the word ‘Ravok’ passed around a few times, and she was vaguely aware of the fact Ravok was a place, she had no idea if this was where she would end her journey or if this was merely another stop. Who knew? Only Lhex could know what he had in store for her.

The caracal curled herself up a little more, making herself smaller still, and curling up, her tail wrapped around her body, doing her best to feign sleep. She was collared, the leather heavy around her neck, particularly with the thick iron chain that connected it to a ring in the side of the wooden wagon. There were too many sounds and scents out there, and so much to watch and listen for, and despite it all, she was afraid. In spite of the men and women on horseback who rode alongside the slave caravan, mercenaries and guards looking to protect the cargo on the way to the northern city, she was afraid. She had never been beyond the walls of Syliras before, and she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to be again. She could only hope whomever bought her didn’t have a penchant for traveling.

With the clop-clop of the horse hooves on the road, with the creaking and groaning of the sturdy wagons, Chisa heard one of the mounts beside her wagon start to make a chuffing sound. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with the beast, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t normal. It hadn’t made that sound before, after all, not for the entirety of the journey thus far, and the murmuring of its rider confirmed that to her, because an arrow was withdrawn from a sling on the horse and a bow lifted as the guards seemed to be preparing for something, when low, thrumming twangs came from both sides of the road, and arrows flew everywhere. A shout went up, and the Kelvic flattened herself further still as loud thunks told her that the wagon she was traveling in had been peppered with arrows. Her nose twitched when she smelled the oil, and heard the crackling.

It was the sudden realization that the wagon was on fire that made her begin to panic as the acrid smoke filled her nostrils and she pulled back, as far away from the side as she could, tugging away. She couldn’t undo the collar and she couldn’t shift without choking herself to death. She was trapped. All around the wagon, the battles were being raged. There was shouting, there was cursing, there was a strange sort of blood-curdling whooping that Chisa never wanted to hear again. And around her were the clangs that came from weapons that were colliding and that continuous whooping. But what caught her attention was the growing crackling that was coming closer still as the wagon continued to burn. The smoke was making her nose and throat hurt, even as she kept pulling away, trying to get as far back from the fire as she could. The heat licked at her face and fur as sparks flew skyward as something, or someone, Chisa wasn’t sure which, struck the wagon.

She tumbled backwards, tail over snout as she was flung from the wagon. The wood to which the ring connected to the chain was bolted had finally gave way, having burned through, and out she went over the back of the wagon. She hit the ground, dazed for a few moments before shaking her fur to get rid of the charred, burning wood and the ash that had settled there. As she was trying to get her bearings, she spotted Orland, the man who had captured her, hit the ground, an arrow through his neck. More arrows hit the ground as Chisa turned to run for cover as something grabbed at her – she didn’t waste a breath trying to see. Something was caught in her chain, she could tell, but it wasn’t heavy enough to stop her as the Kelvic fled into the bushes, guided by the animalistic instincts that each of her kind had, heading in the direction that the caravan had been traveling. If anything, she had to be closer to Ravok than Syliras, and surely she could talk this out with someone and get directions back home to where Lucas was no doubt waiting for her and wondering where she was.

The caracal didn’t stop running until she was well away from the sounds of battle, until she couldn’t hear it any more, and only once the adrenaline faded did Chisa claw her way up a tree, dragging the bag with her. She didn’t stop until she was safely ensconced amongst the bows of the tree, and surveyed her surroundings from her perch, as she curled up and listened. This… should hopefully be a safe enough place to start. She eyed the bag that was tangled up in the chain. A backpack? She gripped one of the shoulder straps with her teeth and dragged it up behind her, tucking it into the knot of branches. That was better. Now she could work at getting rid of the collar. She couldn’t speak to people like this, after all.

Chisa unsheathed the claws on one of her hind legs, gripping the bark with her front paws, and set to work slowly, but determinedly, scratching away at the collar that kept her in this shape. It took some twisting and plenty of angling, and she had to stop from time to time because of the discomfort from holding her muscles that way. The sun was high in the sky before it finally came off, and she stretched and shook herself out, fluffing her short fur and stretching and wiggling on the branch before settling down and backing up stopping to look around again. She thought she heard footsteps, and flattened herself against the limb. The movement caused the chain, with the ripped collar attached to it, to start to slide off the limb, and Chisa shifted to grab it. She felt herself going off balance, and down she went in a tangle of limbs, backpack and all.

[Murmur]

It wasn’t always Murmur got assigned patrolling duty on the outskirts of the city so early in the morning. He just figured Sir Fren was petching with him again, trying to crack something out of him, make him snap to warrant a whipping or a beating. He always enjoyed that. But Murmur rarely obliged to his whims, so when the Commander assigned him his rounds, the Ebonstryfe gave him a charming smile, saluted and left. And so he sat on his bloodbane, Sangre, dagger at his side, donned in uniform, and a sharp eye trained on the shadows. There were others of his faction about as well, occasionally passing him with a curt nod on their own steed, but for the better part of the late night, it was quiet. It was only when the first rays of light streaked through the sky that Murmur noticed curling smoke not far on the road from Ravok. He pressed his horse onwards on a steady trot. Other men were converging on the same location, but little did Murmur know that his luck was about take a surprising turn. As if from thin air, a girl collapsed onto Murmur, forcing them both to slip off of Sangre’s saddle and smash onto the ground, leaving the bewildered man to absorb the majority of the fall. With the air knocked out of him, he snapped his eyes open to meet the…. Rather pleasant ass of his “attacker”. Nude? She was nude. Murmur rested his head back on the ground, staring up at the early morning sky. “I understand I can be quite attractive, love, but I would appreciate being able to breathe.” He waited for her to move, then stood to dust off his uniform and shove Sangre off so as not to nip at the girl. “If it had been anyone else but a nude girl I’d probably had stabbed them in the eye. Why, exactly, were you in a tree.. Naked?” He quirked a brow, considering the possibilities, “A slave? It seems to fit, doesn’t it? What’s your name, love?”

[Sahiri]

That was clearly the most graceless action she'd ever performed. Not only had she not landed on her feet the way that cats were supposed to, she had landed on someone. And someone, judging from the uniform he wore, that was either important or in a position of authority... but with her luck, this young man was probably both. The contact activated her Ranuri - giving her a taste of what he wanted at the moment, and that was to get up. She got off of him hurriedly, clutching her bag and trying to put the broken collar with its connected chain in the bushes before he had seen it, but she was a bit slow on the draw there, and there was no doubt in her mind that it had been spotted by a handsome young man who reminded her of Lucas. He really did. Some years older, surely, but he had the hair and eyes of the teenager she had taken to trailing and she was absolutely certain was missing her right now.

He called her love.

She was rather thin, but that was an observation true of most slaves, wasn't it? Her hair was almost bushy, and had twigs and leaves in it, but there was nothing wrong with it, or the rest of her, really, that wouldn't be cured by a proper combing and a bath. He could see the faded lines that came from being whipped or struck with a switch or cane, one of the two - likely the latter, considering their neatness and the way they were almost perfectly parallel. It took a certain amount of skill to try to leave such neat lines on someone with a whip. They were older, too, and concentrated mostly around the legs and feet, at least, that he could see, but none of the skin had been broken to leave permanent marks. There might have been more, but she didn't seem inclined to turn her back towards him. No smart person turned their back on an armed stranger out here in the wilderness, after all. Her freckled facial features were stranger yet - on another person, even one of them might have been considered a flaw, but on her, they just worked together to present an attractive young woman. But more important than her nakedness, more important than the welts, more important than her unique features, was the single, crimson link of chain on her left breast.

She hesitated to answer him at first - trying to figure out the best way to answer. So she busied herself with fulfilling his wish, picking at a few leaves and brushing off some of the dirt. She had resigned herself to inevitable slavery - if only because it made the idea more bearable. Submission was not slavery... but she could blur those lines. But through whatever twist of fate, those raiders who were after the caravan's cargo for their own resale had allowed her to free herself. She could head back to Syliras, once she figured out what way it was from here, go find Lucas, and... Still, he had asked her a question. She had to answer it. "I was," she angled her head, looking up at him with those big eyes of hers. "I was captured to be sold, but some raiders attacked that caravan, and I left," her eyes went to the big horse and she subconsciously backed away from it a bit and she shrugged as she turned her eyes back to him. "But I am free now... again..." her eyes darkened, only to brighten a little more as she smiled at him. "My name is Chisa. And yours?"

[Murmur]

Murmur hadn't expected the blatantly honest response from the girl, taken aback as he was. He glanced her over, once again, his vivid gray eyes drinking in her exotic features; the rich auburn hair, the smattering of freckles and her lean, graceful body. Yet something was oddly strange about the girl. Daft, perhaps? Why else would she so willingly reveal her status as a slave to be sold? Then his keen eyes caught the mark ingrained on her chest, the single link that seemed to draw him in like a beacon. A hand reached up of its own accord, extended toward her breast as if meaning to grasp the mark and tear it from her very flesh. But his hand was stayed just inches from it, curiousity, intrigue, his mind urged. Was this the mark by the infamous Nikali his fellow Ebonstryfe so jokingly referred to? If so, the possibilities for this girl's use was beyond what Murmur could ever had hoped for. Had the gods decided to humor him, he wondered? Rhysol, laughing in his high chair at this fortuitous meeting, forseeing a future that the young Ebonstryfe had yet to play out. The rough neighing of his bloodbane snapped him out of his reverie, and with a shake of his head, Murmur glanced into the girl's emerald gaze. The charming smile returned, and his hand, once held aloft, now touched Chisa lightly on the chin, lifting her head. "As free as a bird, little Chisa" He proclaimed. Kneel. His desires surged, Bow to your new master. "My name is.... Deven." There was no answer as to why he gave her his true name, but his smile was still present, as cold and attractive as it ever was. "I suppose we should find yourself some clothes, love, lest the less disciplined thugs of these woods are drawn to the crater between your legs." He turned back to Sangre, beginning his search for the blasted old blanket he'd packed there. "Shall this do, little Chisa?"

[Sahiri]

Sahiri didn't move as he held his hand just off her skin, though she seemed to tremble faintly, just for a moment, with the anticipation of the touch. She hungered for it. She needed it. She needed to know what he wanted now that he was cleaned off and on his feet. She searched his eyes, her own enormous as she drank in his every move. But she stayed still, letting him inspect her. How would she react to being touched, still as a statue that she was? She no longer seemed scared, but patient and impatient at the same time, wanting something, craving something she couldn’t name and didn’t know how to ask for if she did. Was it her place to ask anymore?

Some Kelvics were meant to be slaves. It wasn’t just Kelvics, either, she knew from the caravan - they had plenty of people in there, normal people who did not shift or try to run that way. Slavery was not submission. But submission... Voluntary. Embrace it. And Sahiri needed it. Her Goddess had completely changed her life with Her touch. She had given the youngster a new gift of life. She was a blank canvas, an empty vessel waiting to be filled with whatever contents he could chose to draw on or fill up. She could serve. She would serve. Free to serve. She had no idea how much she was worth to the right buyer - she couldn’t put a price on her loyalty if she tried. His touch was electric - it seemed to be what she craved, his skin against hers as it transmitted to her what he wanted. She needed to know what he wanted to fulfill those fantasies.

So when he finally touched her and that connection told her what she needed to know, there was no hesitation as she moved with the catlike grace that had escaped her in her fall from the tree. Hardly wanting to lose that life-sustaining contact, but unable to say no, she found herself sinking down on the cool ground, resting on the balls of her feet and then her knees, feet together, as she stretched out a little, her hair falling about her as she leaned forward, not quite putting her weight on her hands, fingertips together. She had somehow managed to space herself adequately so Murmur was treated to the pleasing sight without having to back up to admire her rounded flanks. Slim though she was, she was more than adequate. At his next words, though, she wondered about clothes. She hadn’t worn any in... she didn’t know how long it had been, and it didn’t matter, because clothing was something that had been learned as opposed to coming from some overwhelming sense of modesty.

As he turned away from her, she rose easily onto her feet again, scooping up the bag that she had with her, getting as close to Deven as she dared, at the moment an arm’s length behind him and slightly to his right, staying as far away from the disgruntled-looking horse as she could. She accepted the old blanket like she would accept one of silk and satin, handling it with just as much reverence as she draped it over her shoulders, holding it in place at her thighs as she looked up at him for his approval. “Whatever you wish will do,” she told him, wanting his touch again, wanting to know if she pleased him with her actions. Wanted it. Needed it. In time, if he accepted her, she would know those little tells of his, but for now... for now she needed to learn his mannerisms, to pick up on the little things... in time, she knew, she would know... intimately well.

[Murmur]

That single gesture she made, the yielding of her will as if an obedient slave; it all tied into the mark etched into her skin. That single link that held such uninhibited desire to please whomever they touched, and he watched it come to fruition. There was a complacent curl to his lips, those cruel gray eyes the only betrayal in the chivalrous facade. Murmur lifted her up onto the huffing bloodbane, then mounted himself, grasping the reigns in both hands. "Wrap your arms around me so you don't fall, kitten," He remarked lightly, kicking the heel of his riding boots into Sangre's side. The horse began a steady gait down the winding road, the looming trees and their groaning branches jostled by the strong breeze. The great, romantic city of Ravok sat solemnly on its pedestal of water, the trickle of caravans and wagons passing through the gates one at a time, likely being submitted to pervasive questioning by the guards. Murmur had merely to utter a "Deven Rosier of the Ebonstryfe" to pass through, and as they dismounted from the disgruntled equine, he turned to address Chisa. "Welcome to Ravok, kitten. Follow me, and don't stray, unless you're keen on getting kidnapped again." He took her hand in his, leading her through the Docks and the Merchant's Ring, past dilapidated buildings and countless prying eyes. As they walked, Murmur spoke calmly, gently, "Tell me about yourself, Chisa. Where are you from? Where have you come to get a.... well, a mark like that?" He glanced towards her with a quirk of his brow.