Solo The First Day

[Isedan Autumnrun]

NoteThere may be some mature content; reader discretion advised

Timestamp: Fall 10 (following the auctions), 513

She had only vaguely paid attention when a surly figure came for her, his face thick with beard and the sharp sting of male and sweat burned her nose, his voice strange. Most of the conversations she had heard up to this date had been in Pavi, a language she had observed but never learned, its gestures alien to her. His tone, however, as he spoke with the auctioneer and paid what was owed, suggested one of authority, or maybe just excitement. She couldn't be sure.

After her turn at the front, the apathetic woman had been guided back to sit and marked sold to wait for the new owner as that was what it was to come retrieve her and begin her life in his family. Issy didn't care; she felt nothing for them or their strange language and strange ways; felt nothing for the person who gently pulled her back to her feet and stoically guided her to this man, this Cotice Autumnrun. Her extreme height made her stand tall over Cotice but even this she did not notice as she swayed a little with the examinations of this Drykas.

There were other voices in the din, some calling in common, pleading for their parents, others who tried to shush them that this was the new life and this was going to be fine, that they were helping a race to survive! But she felt nothing for them...or for herself. Her mind could not escape that night, that awful awful night...

She had left the tent when she heard a noise. Why did she leave the tent? It was Lukyc who checked things usually, not she, but he had not heard and until she had silently shifted from his side, a warm hand carressing the back of her thigh as she rose and left he had stayed still. The warm breeze had dried the sweat from her body of the stifling tent but it did not click in her mind for other things had swept upon her.

Hands, one grabbing her shoulder, the other her arm, strong and calloused and foreign voices hissing to each other in short clipped tones. Issy had cried out at that point, shouting when the hands pulled her, practically throwing her onto a horse that snorted and almost reared. She had tried to slide off the other side in escape but the one who had tossed her up was quicker and had secured her before she could escape. A hand around her waist, another on her mouth but she had bit it and screamed again, seeing Lukyc appear.

He would save her! Oh her blessed Lukyc, her friend and colleague and lover, her bondmate and the light of her life. "Lukyc!!" She had cried only for grey-gold eyes to widen in horror. He had grabbed his crossbow, determined to scare these assailants off with a warning shot but he had barely got the string wound when the grunt came from his lips and he had sunk to his knees. Oh how she had reeled at the violent TWANG that she felt as something broke within her. She knew what it was the instant it happened and with it, her whole being collapsed.

She had not even been able to scream for the sudden agony she felt, staring at where her beloved had collapsed, an arrow in his back and the hollering whoops of others sounding in the night. Dead...they...they had killed him. The bond they had shared had been deep and the pain, the near physical PAIN of it was too much! She remembered only vaguely riding for what seemed forever, jostled against the handler, a hollow, catatonic husk of herself simply swaying with each bounce of his hooves, miserable. Dead to the world.

She was still there, trapped, screaming for him to be alive where before she could not scream. How could they kill him? How could they do that to him? He only wanted to protect her. A wet voice said something to her this time and slowly, her vision came back to the figure of braided beard and half-bald head, more braids hanging in the rear. The woman stared blankly at him, uncaring as he guided her along with one hand holding her bicep and the other gently pushing her in the middle of her back. Easy this, it will be fine that, it must be done and you will give me fine children. Not even that was heard as she moved in silence with him, weak of soul. What should she care what happened now when her only reason to live was...was gone...

[Isedan Autumnrun]

They came to a cluster of tents, braids of emerald and jade and teal hanging from the entrance. Hounds barked from inside and a pair of older children darted from beneath the canvas, nearly running into the stout-faced man as he ushered her inside. There around a dozen people inside, some having known that their Ankal had gone a-hunting for a wife at the auctions, others surprised he would choose this slightly sallow-faced woman who was too tall, too thin, too...non-Drykas. Her short hair could not even be braided, Issy heard one of them say.

How were they to assimilate such as this? To which Cotice snapped, his grip tightening on the unknown kelvics arm for a moment. "What matter is it to you if she acclimates to our culture or not! I do not care if she becomes Drykas, I only want my heir. Petch, Sarah and the boys are dead and I see none of you stepping forth to offer." Issy could not understand them though their violent hand gestures instinctively drew her focus, feline nature making her follow the movements and not the sounds.

Tired and wary, she found herself meeting the eyes of an older woman, her mature and sun-darkened face studying her closely. The matron smiled at her, nodding her head in reassurance, then rising to hobble across the short distance. She could not see Issy clearly, the thick lenses over her eyes making that quite clear but the kelvic wondered if perhaps she saw something else. The woman's hands were moving with her lips, gesturing in time or compliment. Then, in halting Common, she said, "Welcome Autumnrun. We..." She faltered, searching for the words that were not familiar. Instead, the Elder reached to take her arm from the surly mans, ushering her away from him for a moment to stand before the rest as a hand unabashedly pressed against her abdomen.

The Elder tried again. "Make child. Good wife. Cotice good man. Make child." She patted her abdomen a second time, grinned, then looked towards her grandson, speaking in that strange language again. There was a bark of laughter that made her turn in response. A hulking figure covered in scars with an axe at his waist stood with arms crossed by the tent entrance. He approached the one who had led her here and slapped him on the back hard enough to make him lose his balance a little.

"Oh she'll make him child, Tudav." He was speaking in Common this time, her disheartened eyes following his movements towards her. "She'll make him many. Don't think we haven't heard you at night, brother, slaving away in that lonely bed of yours. Why, you could cleave a glassbeak in half with that right hand of yours! HAH!"

She felt her mind drifting again, not liking where this conversation was going, the flitting memory of someone saying these people had lost many and that they needed new blood, better numbers, more people or they were going to die dashed across the fore of her thoughts. Is that why she was here? Why they had killed Lukyc? Issy felt sickened at the thought, and swayed on her feet a little, gaze moving back to the one the big man had called Tudav. She was grinning and those behind her were laughing and they were all watching her. It was disgusting and she swayed unsteadily again.

She did not ask it of them as she hunkered slowly to the ground, eventually sitting with her legs crossed and a hand covering her eyes. Another woman came to her, rested her hands on her shoulders and spoken in that halting tongue again. She could not know what was said, their words unknown but she knew what they implied. Breeding. Something she knew Ravok to be known for and that far away land, Riverfall. It was supposed to keep kelvics solely to produce young for the all-male society of Akalaks and was one reason Lukyc never took her into Cyphrus to hunt. At least, that was what she had been told.

The tears were coming again and her body tightened as she pulled her legs up and laid her head upon her knees, letting the silvery drops drip down the bridge of her nose and curve of her cheek, wetting her hands and arms while these...these deviants talked like hounds above her. Baby this, heir that, and it would all begin tonight. But they must first get her cleaned and ready to serve her new husband...and that would be an ordeal.

[Isedan Autumnrun]

The kelvic's skin was red and raw from the scrubbing she had endured, the luke warm bath having been far from enjoyable. They had taken stones to her flesh, rough bottomed, and rubbed her to nearly bleeding and then rubbed and rubbed and rubbed at her scalp making the woman groan and fight, trying to push the women off of her. Their attentions had been far more attentive than she would have liked and Issy now sat a little awkwardly on the stool, shifting from cheek to cheek, a hand grasping the forearm of her other with a hand between her legs as well.

The old woman was back, humming something in that strange tongue and brushing her hair with a bristly old brush, not that there was much to brush. They all knew her name for their assault at the tent entrance had eventually led to inquiring it. It was with weak discouragement that she had told them. Isedan, to which one of the few youth in the pavilion had gleefully cried and clapped their hands, proclaiming that her nickname would be Issy! Or that was what it had sounded like, the kelvic wasn't sure. They all gestured too quickly for her to even remotely try to postulate what they were talking about. She could, however feel that mans eyes on her from the door as she sat nude upon the stool.

Could they not just leave her alone? Why were they so adamant about all of this? Was it truly so important that that...man...do this now? She just wanted to lay down for a long while and cry. Could they let her do that? The old woman stopped then and patted her head gently, saying something calm and kind, or so she assumed for all that the kelvic understood. And then, the old woman hooked her fingers under the pit of Issy's right arm and helped her up, escorting her through the tents as if she were some fine young filly on display, leading her off to the Ankals tent.

But Cotice was not there. He had lingered behind, admiring the woman as she was led, her height enchanting to him, his eyes hungry as they browsed the back of the unknown kelvic. His fingers itched to touch her, the tenting of his breeches making it clear where he stood. His brother had stopped as the Elder and new...wife...entered his bed-tent. Corsal was a thick man, his eyes bright in contrast to his older siblings lusty gaze, the longing Cotice had to regain what had been taken from him having soured the man some.

"She's a strange pick for you. Doesn't look much like Sarah." The warrior said, arms crossing over broad chest. "We can always put her to work with Tudav. Nana's getting off in her stitching and I've wondered at the strength of her webbing anymore. We will need to find another to anchor us. Perhaps our cousin will marry one."

Cotice snorted and waved a hand at him, stepping away. "Petch him and Tudav's blindness. She refused treatment before the plague, let her suffer the ailment. A healer could have rid her of the damn fog she sits in, old crone." Straightening, the Ankal fingered his beard, the beaded braids manipulated between his calloused digits. "This...Isedan is for one purpose only. Of course, she'll wear the mantle of 'wife' and bare the Autumnrun name, but we both know the truth. She will give me my son; and if she does not..." He trailed into silence, sparing a hard look to his younger brother.

The words did not need to be finished.

[Isedan Autumnrun]

Whatever it was the men discussed, Issy did no hear or care.

Tudav had escorted her into the pillow-laden room, one dog in the corner. It was a huge Akinva, his ears docked and his shoulders massive. It should have made the woman uncomfortable enough to even hiss at it, but the kelvic could do nothing as she stood over the pillows, staring at its slick nose in absolute agony. She did not hear the men outside or the underlying threat of the Pavi words. She heard only the heavy thud of her heart in her chest and the hard lump that was swallowed as she slowly sank onto the softened flooring to half-curl upon them, a hand beneath her head.

A murmur came from just outside this part of the tent, but Issy did not stir. She was awake and knew the man was there, watching her, wanting her, but she did not move. She felt absolutely hollow as she lay there, the tear in her core sharp of edge and begging to shred her from the inside out. And this, Issy would welcome.

That was when she felt a hand upon her shoulder, rolling her onto her back now so that her grey-gold eyes were forced to focus upon Cotice's face. He had removed his shirt, the corded chest exposed so that she could see the swirl of his tattoo, something someone in the camps had called 'windmarks'. Issy did not pretend to understand what they were, she just stared up dead at him, her very soul shuddering and weeping. The hand on her shoulder found its way to her head. It slid against her cheek, rough and unpleasant, then cupped her cheek hard as he leaned in and kissed her.

It was just as unpleasant, his other hand now fumbling upon her chest, squeezing and molesting. And while her conscious mind recognized the foulness of this, the sour smell of the man and his rut, Issy could not even bring herself to fight him. Not when the kiss moved from her lips and down her neck; not when his hands rubbed down her body, pushing her legs apart; not even when he settled between them and began his rough handling of her despondent form. The act was dispassionate and sloppy, like a dog upon a bitch in heat; he simply...satisfied the need and when he finished, several hard thrusts and grunts bringing the last bell to an uncomfortable close, he slipped from her and laid nearby. One hand draped across to massage one breast already sore and red from his attentions as his body drifted to sleep.

Through it all, the woman he had thus claimed simply lay still, a doll for a child's game. Her heart was broken, her spirit lost and there was nothing now but the food even these were sure to shove down her throat and feed what this man now snoring crudely beside her needed. She was a womb with legs to them and be damned to her brokenness. They could use her body to get what they wanted and forget the being that lived, ruined, inside of it.

It was just the first day. How would she ever find the strength to go on right now.

And it was only the first day.

[Praetorian]

Player 1

Observation

+2 XP

• Autumnrun Pavilion: My New Home
• Tudav: Not All There
• Corsal: Maker of Crude Jokes
• Cotice: Owner of My Agony
• Cotice: Naught But a Male

Notes :

I wanna hug poor Issy Not much to give here as far as skills go, but this was a lovely plot thread setting up the scene for the future. You've done a wonderful job of writing her emotions and physical despondency. It is an interesting aspect to see written. Keep it up!

Have any questions, comments, or concerns? Feel free to message me.