Flashback Tied in Chain and String

[Estrellir Konrath]

Summer 70, 511 AV
Whiplash Plantation


Estrellir Konrath had risen in the dim bells and spent most of the morning in a private carriage. Since returning from Konti Isle, she’d considered taking riding lessons multiple times, but both her family duties and personal plans hadn’t allowed for any luxury recently. During the ride to Whiplash, she’d meant to doze and catch up on sleep, instead she found herself wide awake and putting together lists in her head.

The Konti loved lists. Nothing compared to the feeling of organization and then accomplishment as she crossed items out one after another. They were the only means of staying on top of everything going on in Kenash, from errands to family projects to her own business plans. She was only just beginning to realize the idea she’d had shortly after returning to the swamp and already felt flooded by choices. When she’d risen before the sun that morning, she’d damned the Radacke for putting their foot down so far from the city proper, but after a while she was beginning to appreciate the five or so bells of travel as an opportunity to collect her thoughts. While the carriage was following the Kabrin Road through Lorak, Sitai and Morealis land, Estrellir had her eyes closed and mental wheels spinning.

The Konrath were hosting a festival in Fall to celebrate the exceptional growth of their bamboo crops. Personally, Estrellir didn’t see the appeal to the idea, but they had already begun fashioning all kinds of props. Bamboo cups, bamboo bottles, even bamboo jewelry to be worn by her sisters. Boldvine would be decorated by tufts of bamboo leaves for several days. The program was being put together by Atia herself.

Her elder sister had asked Estrellir to choose a handful of slaves to entertain their guests for a day and a night. As if she didn’t have enough on her plate already… but Atia Konrath wouldn’t take no for an answer.

So she’d arranged for an appointment with Zaelsen Radacke whose Dynasty had a reputation for supplying the best slaves. Truth be told, Estrellir didn’t quite trust their methods, doubt which probably stemmed from her dislike of Mica. He was the opposite of her taste and so was most of his architecture.

As the carriage neared the Whiplash property, however, she couldn’t help but admire the intricate design and deep color of its façade. The chimneys, likely purely decorative, added a homely touch that challenged what she knew about the Radacke Dynasty. As soon as she stood on solid ground again, Estrellir stretched and tugged at her clothing. She was wearing a light summer dress, pastel green and deeply cut at the back. Opalescent scales shone between her white locks that cascaded unhindered past her shoulder blades. Confident in her heeled sandals, she walked up to the front door.

With her myriad of lists stored away in the back of her head, Estrellir knew exactly what she wanted from those slaves.

[Achenar]

Rapid, assured footsteps took the ethaefal down the halls and stairs of the Whiplash Estate to the kitchens. The Caretaker had established the various slaves’ orders for the day, assigning a handful for the afternoon meal, the rest sent to clean and refresh various rooms in the massive property. He paused when he turned a corner toward the kitchen, watching as the slaves hustled the length of the kitchens and pantries to placate the needs of the Dynasty brats.

“Master Zaelsen requires his afternoon brandy,” Achenar told them sharply.

One of the kitchen slaves nodded briskly and went to fetch the bottle and glass. He was silent as he waited. The ethaefal remembered distinctly when he was in their position, held by the constant threat of a whip at their backs. In his place had been another woman; blond haired and buxom, but wild in her obsessiveness. She was easily disposed of. The corners of his lips twitched.

The sound of wheels on gravel drifted through the heavily draped window. Achenar glanced through the streams of sunlight that filtered through the glass, and noted the approach of a carriage, though it was unlike any under the Radacke’s ownership. From it emerged a pale-skinned Konti, whom he could only assume was another scion of a Dynasty. Only they could pull off pompous and self-assured and still look as innocent.

A slave, nicknamed ‘the Butler’, hurried toward the door and opened it for the Konti woman, bowing low enough for his sparse grey strands to touch the tips of his shoes. He stood tall again, smoothing his blue vest. “Greetings, m’lady, what brings you to the Whiplash Estate?”

[Estrellir Konrath]

Estrellir was pleased as the door opened several ticks before she could knock. Dark violet eyes observed the elderly slave that had come to greet her. Often the slaves chosen to open the door and walk her through the meeting said as much as the polite words spoken, if not more. That one was flawless, to say the least, practiced and confident in his manners. She’d expected nothing less from a Radacke slave.

Now, if he knew the reason that had brought her to Whiplash, the impression would be perfect. Tugging at her hair one last time, she replied with pointed indifference. “I have an appointment with Zaelsen Radacke. He should be expecting me.”

As there was no coat to shed, she merely waited for the butler to lead her deeper into the mansion or delegate another slave to do so. The interior of Whiplash was regarded with mild interest as far as architecture went. As she was led through corridors and hallways, Estrellir made a point of noting the slaves’ activities and interactions, trying to judge their quality. Of those within eyesight, none would be available for their party. She knew that, but she also knew an invitation into the belly of the Radacke Dynasty didn’t happen every day. As a Konrath, Estrellir was obliged to make the most of that opportunity.

Last but not least, she’d heard many things of her contact. Zaelsen Radacke was a bit of an enigma. In Kenashian society, secrecy didn’t simply fall into one’s lap, it required intelligence and effort. If nothing else, that was something she knew about the man. He also seemed to have a hand (or two) in the family’s slave trade. While she was eager to meet the elusive man, Estrellir also kept in mind that all Radacke were rumored to possess a volatile and unpredictable nature.

[Achenar]

Achenar glanced through the archways of the kitchens as the voice of the Konti woman drifted through the halls. His brow twitched. A meeting with Zaelsen? About what? Even as the enigmatic Radacke’s personal slave, the ethaefal hardly had a glimpse into the scion’s plans until they came to fruition. That often cut deeper than he ever intended; a jealousy that made him sick.

“Excuse me, here is the Master’s brandy.”

The timorous voice cut through his thoughts, and the ethaefal blinked, glancing back at the mousy woman. “Very good,” he touched the snifter with two fingers. Warm. Proper. He nodded curtly and took the tray in his hands, the weight of it an easy carry as he stepped out into the hall.

“An appointment with Master Zaelsen?” He heard Butler say with raspy undertones. “Ah, yes, m’lady, right this way.”

For all the old man’s perfect subdued demeanor, Achenar always hated the way he walked. Slow and careful, as if the cracks in the floorboards would threaten to swallow him whole if he stepped too hard.

“I’ll take my lady to the Master’s office, if she so desires, Butler,” the ethaefal finally said, inclining his head toward the Konti woman. He knew better than to meet the gaze of a dynast. It was practically beaten out of him. “I was already headed there to deliver his brandy.”

The butler paused, and nodded briskly. “Achenar will take you to Master Zaelsen. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Whiplash Estate, m’lady.” He bowed low, before stepping out.

The ethaefal kept his head inclined as he turned on his heel. “This way, my lady.”

The silver tray he held reflected the light from various sources: candles, lanterns and chandeliers, as variable as the rest of the décor in the estate. Like a quilt of showmanship. For what it was worth, Achenar considered the details beautiful in their own way, if he could only enjoy the beauty without the price of pain.

At the end of the hall, the ethaefal escorted the Konti woman to a rich mahogany door and paused for several seconds before he lifted a hand from the tray to rap the door three times. It was several more, strained seconds before he heard the familiar command “Enter.”

Achenar twisted the handle and opened the door, allowing the dynast to enter before him. He shut the door silently behind him.

“Master,” the ethaefal immediately bowed, careful of the tray. “The Lady Konrath is here for your appointment.”

“Ah. Yes.” Zaelsen didn’t yet glance up from his papers. The quill scratched upon parchment, and the scent of incense was thick in the air. Achenar approached and set the tray down in an empty corner of his glossy wooden desk. He picked up the bottle to pour him the brandy, keeping his gaze downcast.

Zaelsen finally set his quill down and sat back in his plush red armchair. He was an impeccable man; his attire pressed and fashioned in the colors of coal and blood. His jet black hair was slicked back and his beard was trim and clean. For most, he looked the proper part of a dynast, even a politician, but Achenar knew that behind those silk gloves laid bloodied hands. The ethaefal handed Zaelsen his drink, noting the glint in the man’s dark eyes as he observed and analyzed the Konti.

“So, Miss Estrellir, you were seeking slaves for your festivities?” Zaelsen began easily.

[Estrellir Konrath]

Satisfied, Estrellir followed the butler deeper into the burrow. Dark and richly decorated as the interior was, it certainly felt like that. Statues lined the hallways, walls and shelves treasure chests of paintings, rare furs, decorative weapons and other little things, always arranged with taste. Estrellir had heard of their tendency to hoard artefacts, but it was the first time she saw the rumors confirmed. Although multiple objects roused her curiosity, she made a point of looking indifferent.

Until the other slave approached. Tanned, with dark hair and a moustache, he couldn’t be a mere household slave. Clothing and demeanor indicated he stood above most of his colleagues at Whiplash. Personal or pleasure slave, the Konti observed, given his looks and style. It relieved her to see that the Radacke treated their valuables with the same care as the other Dynasties.

A curt nod was given, first to the young human, then to the butler. “Yes, I’d like that. It seems like a good idea.” Estrellir noted this one thought for himself, assuming his job allowed or even required it. As she followed him down the hallway, she observed his movements.

She stepped past the opened door into the office. The click-click of her heels announced the Konti even before the slave introduced her. First impressions of Zaelsen: A man of taste, both in aesthetics and liquids. The way he met her gaze only after finishing his writing marked a manipulator. He expected to be in control at all times. Estrellir marveled at all that. No doubt he was very good at his trade.

She couldn’t decide whether to clasp her hands, so she simply let them fall into the folds of her dress. When he spoke, she moved smoothly to seat herself in a cushioned chair before his desk. With this man, it seemed doubly important to appear confident. “Indeed. My sister Atia sends her greetings. We trust your excellence in the slave trade and so I’m here to pick among your wares personally. We have a bit of a theme party planned to celebrate good business, nothing extraordinary. Of course we’re still looking for the best slaves to please our guests.” A slight smile. “Judging from first impressions, I have no doubt I’ll find them here.”

[Achenar]

Zaelsen always had a routine. Every move he made was calculated, even the idle gesture of lifting the glass of brandy to his nose. The dynast enjoyed order and precision, and he most certainly enjoyed beating that into his charges as well. After several chimes of savoring the scent of the brandy, he took a careful sip. Achenar knew he savored the taste as much as he savored a whip in his hands.

Zaelsen swirled the liquid in the glass , the thin smile on his face like a warm breeze in a frozen tundra.

“Ah, Lorenzo’s girls,” the slave master answered with a pleasant undertone, though the ethaefal knew even that was an act. “I’m flattered and honored to have your trust in my product, Miss Konrath,” He set the glass down and picked up parchment and quill.

“Now what sorts of slaves are you looking for and how many? Be particular. How many males or females? Race will factor into the price, as well. An ethaefal like Achenar here would spike the price considerably.” He gestured toward the slave who stood silent beside the desk, his hands behind his back. “Of course, the party would have to be at night to appreciate his celestial beauty. But his… talents are well practiced.”

Achenar saw the flicker of his master’s eye, and the smirk that followed. He was trying to incite something, but he knew better than to respond or give an inch. The Master played his games, even in the midst of meetings. He wanted the ethaefal to fail, to trip, to give him a reason to humiliate him.

“Ah, excuse my manners, would you like a drink, Miss Konrath?” Zaelsen asked, signaling Achenar to grab a spare glass from the cupboard.

[Estrellir Konrath]

Her smile widened ever so slightly as she masked her confusion at his exclamation. Estrellir knew enough about the man behind the impressive desk not to trust his pleasant undertone.

While Zaelsen got ready to cement the details in ink, Estrellir merely pulled out one particular list from the recesses of her mind, a sort of shopping list her oldest sister had left her with. Deep violet eyes flickered towards the tanned slave at the side and mild surprise crossed her features at the revelation that he was in fact an Ethaefal. Granted, he was handsome in a hardened burned way, moustache and all. She could only guess how such beauty was multiplied by moonlight. The Konti was businesswoman enough to notice a sales line when she heard one, yet his suggestion held a certain appeal.

As she was focusing on Zaelsen, it escaped her how his words hit the slave in question. When offered a drink, she leaned back and nodded. “Thank you, I’d like one very much. You seem to have some fine liqueur there.” Her eyes, still expressionless beneath the pleasant smile, followed the slave as he poured and served the drink.

Glass in hand, Estrellir returned to the questions asked earlier. “We were thinking four human slaves, either naturally talented or trained for their purpose, plus three more exotic races. Regarding the latter, no prior training is necessary, but they should be pleasant and polite in public. In other words, agreeable personalities. Naturally, your seven would be assigned to entertain our guests only. Others will act as waiters and hosts. Does that make sense?” Swirling her drink around in the glass, she allowed him to digest it all. “The races of the three special slaves will depend entirely on what you have in stock, although I’m sure you get an idea of what I’m looking for.”

Then she leaned back, taking a careful first sip. The alcohol burned at the back of her throat, but she merely blinked twice. Ever since her return, Estrellir had nurtured a taste for the liquids grown and produced in the swamp city. She’d come to stomach the strong stuff. Over the rim of her glass, she observed the Ethaefal in disguise. Despite being on a budget, she could at least consider asking for him.

[Achenar]

Zaelsen chuckled mirthlessly, the quill in his hand dancing along the parchment surface as he recorded her words. After a flick of his pen, he set it down on the desk and sat back, his fingers steepled in a thoughtful gesture, though his dark gaze remained intent.

“My slaves are always trained, Miss Konrath, down to the lowest scat-scrubbing specimen that we may have the misfortune of receiving. That, after all, is our reputable contribution to society.” He raised his glass and took another sip. Achenar watched in silence after supplying the drink to the konti. Not once in his years of being held captive here had he ever given a thought to interrupting his master. Though he was trained to be acutely aware of the needs and desires of his superiors, his eyes still wandered toward the woman seated in the plush armchair. She was lovely, as most Konrath’s tended to be, he’d noticed, but a small simpering voice in the back of his mind warned of danger. Beauty came with poison, and he couldn’t trust a dynast.

“All of that makes perfect sense,” the slave master continued with a quirk of his lips. “Achenar will show you to the slaves for your picking pleasure, as I have urgent business to attend to,” He paused, his eyes flickering toward the ethaefal. “And as a gesture of Radacke hospitality, I will offer my personal slave for this venue if you would have him,” he gestured toward Achenar.

A younger, far more naïve ethaefal might have been taken aback by this offer, but Achenar remained subdued, his head bowed to the konti. “It would be my honor,” he answered, his tone unassuming. He turned toward his dark haired captor, though his eyes remained downcast. “Shall I take her to the slaves at this moment, master?”

“Do so,” Zaelsen agreed, looking back at Estrellir. “Return to me when you have decided upon the slaves you wish to rent and we’ll solidify the deal. Does that sound agreeable?”

Achenar waited for her acknowledgement before he stepped fluidly toward the door, holding it open for her so that he may close it after them. “This way, my lady,” he gestured with a hand before stepping several paces ahead of her. Walking too swiftly invited unwanted attention thus he learned to lead by submissive posture only, his thoughts and his words kept to himself. In the house of Radacke, a slipped tongue meant a flayed slave.

"The slave housing is outdoors, near the Breaking Grounds, my lady," He told her, keeping his steps in tandem to hers. Once they were out under the weight of the sun's rays and he felt the wind whistle past his ears, he exhaled. Every glimpse of the wilds around the outskirts of the dynast's estate churned his gut. He felt every pinprick in his body, every nerve scream at him to run, but his mind had yet to succumb to the temptation. Perhaps he'd been broken after all.

When they approached the units, a line of slaves had been assembled. It seemed that Zaelsen had been prepared after all, Achenar mused.

"These are the slaves my master currently has in stock," he told the konti, gesturing toward them.

A heavy orderly stood watching nearby, one eye shut from the glint of the sun. A total of twenty slaves had been procured. Ten humans, two dhani, two konti, four kelvics, one chaktawe and one akalak. They stood with their eyes fixed on the dirt floor, something that Achenar knew was one of many things he shared with them.


oocHope you don't mind I moved it along!

[Estrellir Konrath]

For a tick, confusion spilled over her face as the mastermind behind the desk started chuckling. Thankfully, he explained his amusement complete with colorful rhetoric. Of course. How could she have assumed otherwise. The way he regarded her then, as opposed to the careful note taking of earlier, made her realize that the remark hadn’t been directed at her, but possibly also at the slave in the background. Such skill. Most every other Dynast pretended slaves were invisible unless given orders. But after all, he was the slave master.

Her musings were cut short as Zaelsen spoke his invitation to view the slaves on sale and gestured towards the Ethaefal. The offering of his personal slave, a gesture of good will, pleased Estrellir more than she could admit. It also gave her a chance to get a closer look at one of those otherworldly shape changers, even a specimen for hire. No doubt that was Zaelsen’s intention too.

“That is very generous of you and I think I will accept. Rest assured that word of your hospitality will reach the ears of my sister too. As for the procedure, I shall do as you suggested and come back later.” After one last sip from her exquisite glass, Estrellir stood. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she still swayed a little as blood pounded behind her temples and had to push away from the armrest with one hand.

Words of goodbye on her lips, she nodded at Achenar who got the door and left the office. Following his tanned back, she slowly regained lucidity of mind along with her balance. Perhaps she’d drunk too fast, preoccupied with observing the man in front of her.

As the Ethaefal led her through doors and dark hallways, she returned to judging his worth. He obeyed smoothly and seemed to react even before orders had been given, confirming the excellent reputation of Radacke slaves. The way Zaelsen had dropped remarks probably directed at him hinted at an unusual relationship with his master though. Too rebellious? Yet Achenar had been nothing but polite and forthcoming. The quiet and calculating slave was often more dangerous than the overly submissive one.

Stepping outside, they soon reached the area set aside for slaves in training and everything that concerned them. Shielding her eyes with a webbed hand, Estrellir approached the line and began inspecting them one by one. The pair of Konti got a lingering glance from her. Their mental health tended to grow fragile in captivity. More importantly, Zaelsen’s impeccable reputation had been stained for the first time. Given their blood, the Konraths would never enslave one of their sisters or brothers, let alone offer them for pleasure.

The collared Kelvics were inspected more closely. Circling around the first, a tall dark male, she addressed her guide in conversational tone. “Could you tell me more about those? Which animals they shift into? And by the way, something tells me Zaelsen came by you in an unusual way. Am I right?”

Truth be told, she was guessing, relying on observations and everything she knew about Ethaefal (not much). Did all of them possess that extraordinary aura along with their celestial beauty? She had never dealt with Ethaefal slaves before, had no idea how it suited them.

[Achenar]

The konti woman observed them the way any master would. He didn’t know why he’d assumed she’d be any different. Dynasts never were. Perhaps he’d been momentarily blinded by the konti’s graceful visage. When a slave was surrounded constantly by the harsh scowls of Radacke brutes, a softer change brought out in him a yearning for something gentle.

But Achenar had learned the harsh truth of dreamer’s lies. He’d begged and pleaded in the nights throughout his torture, only to be met with silence. The whispers under the breath of slaves that met the ears of the masters; they brought physical pain and mental anguish. Everybody lies. Every slave that cowered under the fist of a Radacke would just as quickly toss their fellows into the fire if it meant the pain would end.

And so would he.

The konti’s voice cut through his wavering thoughts and he blinked, nearly glancing at her, only to quickly flick his gaze to the floor. His breathing had hitched, as if he’d expected a whiplash for such insolence.

“Yes, my lady,” he answered in a steady voice. He looked up to the four slaves who stood silent, shifting from foot to foot. “The male you are looking at is an elk kelvic, he is popular among women, for... creative reasons. This one,” he gestured to the small woman beside him with frizzy brown hair, “is a raccoon kelvic. She is known to bite, but some masters enjoy that.” He glanced at her, and she returned the stare unblinkingly. “The red-haired male beside her is a parakeet, and the last girl is a ferret, she is most often used for bondage performances due to her flexibility. I have worked with both the raccoon and the elk. They are skilled in what they do, Lady Konrath, pleasure, serving, or manual labor,” he added. Her following question, however, bewildered him. Never had he been asked such a thing.

“I…” He paused, unable to formulate an answer. Was this a trick? Was she going to relay whatever answer he gives to his Master? It sounded very much like a game the slave master would play.

“I’m.. unsure what you mean by that, my lady,” Achenar bowed his head, his tone steady. “I was purchased, like every other slave here, at the Auction Hall.”