It's Not Black & White Ch. 01

For a moment, she thought she could leave her trouble dying on the cell floor - though it would likely have annoyed her mother. However, as she was about to strike, the slave moved, and the way he moved his legs suddenly had her wary. Despite his dirty state and prisoner's clothing, he moved with the grace of a striking lizard.

She could believe what she'd heard of his past.

"Good. Let's go. Walk forward, and follow me. Do not stray from behind me. Do not try anything - and if you try to run, make certain to die in the attempt."

He walked a few steps behind her, and she held him in her peripheral vision. They walked out of the dungeon, back across the courtyard. In the low illumination of the yard, she noted that he had dark brown hair - too long - and eyes of blue, a colour she'd never seen before.

"Do you have a name?"

No answer.

"I see. Well, perhaps your kind is too primitive to name one another, beyond "You twhewe" or "Uhnk!" She mimicked what she thought Rivvil - humans would sound like barking at one another. "If not, I can give you a name. Slaves can have such creative names at times. I know of a slave who is called "shit-wipe". A crude name, I agree, yet effective, and very descriptive of his duties. I suppose I could name you za'thrass. That means 'boot-licker', in your tongue. Or how about 'Dirtface' or-

"My name is Haern." His voice was deep, almost a rumble.

She whirled, feeling a slight thrill at the minute victory. "So. It speaks after all."

The Rivvil - Haern - met her eyes coldly and quietly.

Viara allowed her smile to fade and walked closer. "I am your mistress, slave. I did not choose you, for had I a choice, I would not have chosen you - untrained cretin -, but you are mine. That means you will do as you are told - and you will not dishonour me. You have lived here for enough time to know this, and I will not tolerate the sort of things you may think you can do. Do you understand?

Silence.

With a practiced whipping motion, Viara buried one of her daggers perhaps an inch-and-a-half in his right thigh, besides any major arteries.

The man's eyes widened in shock - pain? - something, and he grunted deeply.

"You do not need legs to serve me, slave. Or teeth. Or a tongue. I can take all of these things - or none." She continued, quiet. A trio of guards walked past, eyeing them curiously, but none moved to assist - or interfere. "The choice is yours. Do you understand?"

"I... understand..."

"You understand....?" She prompted, waiting.

He bit his lower lip, breathing heavily.

Viara rolled her eyes and withdrew her blade. "Move, slave. Don't let that scratch hinder you. My chambers are this way. "

His slight limp earned them a few looks, though injured slaves weren't exactly a rarity. Once in her chambers, she gestured, activating the magic attuned to her that closed the large doors with a loud 'slam'. She immediately felt more at ease in her own little domain. A large expansive, round bed with pillows and soft sheets, luxurious, thick rugs in large squares on the dark floor, and furniture made from dark fungalwood, stone, and metal adorned her chambers. A mirror twice her height hung next to the largest armoire. There was a washstand, a small study, and a bookcase with a few dozen volumes on various topics. There was a large door to her bathing and cleansing area, as well as a small, circular door to her slave chambers.

She turned to meet the male's eyes. That slave's chambers. He was looking around in her chambers, and seemed both curious and perhaps...somewhat impressed? Realizing that perhaps he'd known as little of what awaited him as she had, she crossed her arms. His scent was too strong - and she had no desire for it to linger here, in her own domain.

"Do you know how to clean yourself, male? Does your kind do that?" She meant to elicit a response more than any serious question - she knew some things of Rivvil - but the way his lips compressed again made her want to laugh. She waited for him to nod. "Good." She pointed. "In that chamber, you will find washwater and soap, as well as something that should rid you of that...smell for far longer. Go clean yourself, then present yourself here." She indicated the space before her bed.

For a moment he looked at her. She was about to open her mouth when he turned and walked into the slave's chamber.

Lolth's fangs! Her sister had once presented her with a pet lizard when she was eleven - yet it had only lasted for a ten-day before its constant disobedience and opposition had caused Viara to throw it out her bedroom chamber window. This will probably end the same way. What was mother thinking?

She busied herself with her studies - fungals, poisons and geology this night - and barely noticed when the male came from the chambers perhaps half an hour later. Closing the book, she rose.

"Good. Let me look at you, slave." She rose. Well, at least he smells better. The familiar scent of a strong darkblossom flower was pleasing to her - one she enjoyed on her servants. His shoulder-length hair was plastered against his neck, still moist. He hadn't shaved - the stubble infested his cheeks and chin like minute thorns. Will have to teach him that at least. His clothes were as ragged as before, but with the grime washed off, she saw that he was in considerably better shape than she had expected. His previous owners must have fed and watered him well. He had strong, thick arms, large hands, limber legs, and a chest thick with muscle. His shoulders showed the scars and indents of Armor straps, and his hands showed the callouses of weapons.

"Remove that." She grimaced and gestured to the rags. "You can burn them later."

He hesitated, but then lifted the hole-ridden tunic, pulled down the breeches and discarded them.

Quite a remarkable specimen - for a Rivvil. And strong. If he dared, he might actually be some opposition in a battle.

"I said 'remove it'" She repeated. "I meant all of it."

He glanced down at his underbreeches, which looked more like a half-torn loincloth and frowned. "I..." he began.

She rolled her eyes. "Surely you must have seen that there is no shame in nudity among us? How long have you been in the city? The slave pits?"

"Three moon's turns." The response was hesitant.

She did the math in her head, nodding. "Well enough then - you should know. Go on."

Still, he hesitated.

"I mislike repeating myself, slave."

He met her eyes.

"Lolth!" She exclaimed. That lizard was almost as bad - I already want to toss down the nearest wall! She inhaled deeply. Xelara told me I'd do well to learn to master my temper - if only at times. She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Haarn, yes? That is your name, male?"

"...Haern," he replied, pronouncing it distinctly different.

"Well enough. Listen, and listen well. I will say this only once." She gestured around, then tapped her own chest. "I am second daughter Viara of house De'larn - your mistress and owner. You are my slave. You will do as I command, or I will punish you. Some of my peers, including my sister, will punish their slaves without cause. I do not - most of the time. Whether you are punished, maimed, or killed is your own choice."

He did not respond but continued watching.

"The fact is, I do not have the time or effort to spend on you, male. I have lessons, sparring matches and other responsibilities. I am not a slave-trainer or slave-master. Perhaps in the arena, you had the time or opportunity to argue without much consequence, yes?" She evened out her voice to a steely smoothness. "Not here. I do not have the patience for it. If you're an incapable slave, I will not sell you. You were a gift from my mother - to sell you would be insulting. If you cannot listen, I will maim you. Castrate you. Then kill you, and feed your remains to our house lizards. Do you think me incapable of this, slave? Do you think I'm lying?"

A pause, and then he slowly shook his head. "No."

"Good." She nodded. "Do as you are told, and as I say. Anticipate my needs, my demands, and my desires, and I will take...better care of you than your previous masters. You will be fed. Watered. Clothed. You will serve the noble daughter of a house. You need not fight other slaves. You will be my personal body servant if you prove able. That is an honour to any slave, especially a lowly male." A drow male would not have had to be told this - but he is only Rivvil. "But if you prefer to have your life ended in favor of servitude..." She rose, stepped forward, and drew her blade. "I see you are considered a warrior amongst your kind. If it is what you wish, I will kill you clean, and tell my mother you assaulted me."

He swallowed and met her gaze.

"Is that your wish?"

"...No."

"Good." She gestured with the blade. "Now remove that."

He hesitated only a moment this time before slowly lowering the cloth, leaving him standing in his undergarments.

Viara managed to bite back a full-throated bark of laugh only with effort, turning it into a chortle. When they compare Rivvil to beasts, they truly are not far off. He is hung one, for certain. She'd only bedded a number of males over her nineteen years, but a single glance told her that this slave had a larger cock than any drow or slave she'd witnessed.

The slave's face flushed, and he compressed his lips, looking away.

"What? Do not be childish, slave. Lolth! Are all Rivvil as equipped as you are? Surely your females are not as dissimilar in size from us as that?" Curious, she stepped forward and wrapped her free hand around the length, ignoring his surprised grunt and squeezing it curiously. It wasn't hard, merely...full and warm, yet still large.

His hand came to rest on hers, trying to pry it away from his crotch.

"Slave." She injected a threatening note into her voice. "When your mistress inspects you, you will stand still, and do as you are told." She glanced at his eyes. "Have no fear - I will not hurt you. I am only...curious. It is the first time i have seen your kind like this." She let go and wiped her hand on her own breeches with a slight grimace. Rivvil.

Standing in the nude, he seemed even more.... statuesque and primal than in his clothes. So. A slave. What now...Ah!

"So." She stepped back and sat. "If you are to be my slave and body servant, I need to know of your skills. What...are you able to do?"

He frowned. "I...I don't know what you mean."

"Mistress. I don't know what you mean, mistress. Do not forget the title - should you forget it in front of others, even once, I will maim you." That threat seemed to have some effect.

Haern took a deep breath. "Yes. Mistress".

Sounds like a curse, but it will do. For now. "Your skills. Do you know how to wash your mistress? Give a massage? Clean clothes?"

"Everyone knows how to...wash, mistress."

"I am not speaking of throwing a bucket of water at the head of your bestial surface kind, I am speaking of a proper bathing ritual."

"I... no. Though I could...wash clothes" He shook his head. "Mistress" he added.

I will have to see how he does before entrusting him with any garment of mine. "Do you read our tongue? Could you compile library notes?"

He shook his head slowly.

She blew air from her nose. "Lolth. I will have to make certain to see you are properly instructed." But at least he's talking and answering properly - better than the lizard. "What of v'renessa?

"I do not...know that word."

Mistress. She finished silently, but let it go this time. "V'renessa. Did you never bed a female? Had a companion?"

His eyes grew wary, but he inclined his head. "Yes."

"So, V'renessa. Please her with your tongue and fingers." She motioned between her own legs. "Are you taught?"

"I..."

She rolled her eyes. Rivvil. Their ways are needlessly different. Not that she longed for his tongue to go anywhere, aside from perhaps kissing her toes in reverence - yet if there was nothing else available, and she felt a need or desire, simply ordering a skilled body slave to attend her had its charms.

A thought struck her. "How old are you, slave? Surely you are past adolescence, even for a Rivvil?"

"I am thirty-and-two."

So, older than me, but in Rivvil years, that is approaching middle age. Yet his experience seems so...limited.

"How old are-"

"If you wish to ask a question!" she barked, pointing sharply at him "you will begin by asking permission, slave! Understood?"

He closed his eyes. "May...may I ask a question, mistress?"

"No." She said. "Perhaps you will earn the favour of a question later - for now, you answer. You are...a warrior? By trade?"

He inclined his head.

"And what brought you to the Underdark? Your kind does not go faring down here without cause."

"I had a cause, mistress."

"What cause?"

"My cause."

Her annoyance rose, and she glared.

He must have sensed something, for he said. "...If you demand I answer, I shall, mistress. But I would prefer...not to speak of it. At this time. Qualla."

She pursed her lips. Qualla. It was an old word, rarely used in their language, for it meant "please" - though she'd heard that other races made very liberal use of the term. Well, at least he speaks - and is honest.

"Did you travel alone?"

A moment of hesitation, and then he shook his head.

"Who came with you, male?"

"They are dead."

"All of them?"

"All, mistress," He said. "There is none left to know me, save me, or mourn me."

"And what, slave, do you think of us? The drow?" She almost laughed again at his hateful look, smiling instead and showing him teeth.

A small knock at the door, and a serving orc brought in the evening's food, together with a small platter holding a coarse loaf of bread and a pitcher of water.

"The meal." Viara indicated it" Eat, drink. Go to your room. I will call on you when I have tasks for you."

The human - as well as the orc slave, left her to her own activities. Viara spent an hour reading her studies for the next cycle, taking notes in a small notebook with a quill pen and dark violet ink. The light climbing the night-stone outside the fortress told her a few hours had passed when she put down the pen and retrieved the remainder of the food and a chalice of fine fungus wine.

She strode to her bathing chamber. Retrieving one of the black stones on a nearby table, she spoke a word of activation and allowed it to slip into the raised, stone pool. In a few moments, thin trails of steam rose from the water. She deactivated the item with a word, retrieved the stone - then frowned.

Lolth! The slave could have done this! I must get accustomed to his presence so close at hand. Calling a slave for the task alone had seemed to her a waste of time when it would have involved minutes before it was ready.

She unfastened her armor and breeches. "Slave!" She barked. "Here - now!" Folding her garments, she put them on the nearby table and turned.

Haern stood just inside the room, regarding her. Or rather - his face was slightly turned away, not regarding her at all.

"You may look at the floor, but you will not look away. I am not some leprous, aged surface crone. Understood?"

She spread her arms, making a point of exposing all of herself in unashamed glory before climbing into the bath.

"...Yes, mistress. It is just..."

"I do not need your explanations, male." She murmured; her eyes closed in enjoyment at the sensation of the hot water suffusing her every pore. "Just...do as you are told." When he didn't answer, she opened her eyes and found him moved closer, regarding her. She smiled. "Are you thinking perhaps how easy it would be to wring my neck? To kill me?"

"No! Nev-"

She whirled in the tub and stood, hot water streaming down her naked torso and legs. "Do not lie to me! Rivvil slave! Male filth!" She climbed out of the pool. Others might have slipped with wet feet on stone, but to her training, it was child's play. "Never lie to me." Her hand whipped out, going between his legs and grasping his cock through his thin breeches. "I told you that. The truth now. Or I will pull. Hard."

He swallowed.

"Tell me the truth and I will not hurt you. This once." She held his eyes.

"Yes," Haern replied. "I thought of...harming you. I apologize."

"You apologize..." She prompted, squeezing harder and pressing her nails against his warm flesh.

"Agh! Mistress!"

She bared her teeth in a smile. "See? Better." She grimaced and let go of his cock. Lolth! Twice in one night. Xelara will call me a lover of beasts before long.

"Why...why are you not afraid? Mistress. Of me...doing something?"

There, we come to the question - finally. She had expected this when she allowed him free reign. "I am too quick and too well-trained for you to harm me, lest I allowed you to catch me."

He eyed her, and there was something of a challenge in his eyes. "I am a warrior."

"Mistress." She hissed, and with a quick step, bore her heel down on his middle toe. He grunted. "You are. Yet I am drow - and trained in the arts of shadow, blade, and all the gifts of my kind, in our stronghold. You could not harm me - not here and not with me attentive. And when I am not, your door will be locked."

The challenge didn't disappear.

"You think yourself able?"

"I... I will not harm you, mistress."

"You will answer my question, filthy slave!" She barked.

Something of anger and defiance there. "I...yes. Mistress."

She spread her arms wide, exposing herself to him. "Try."

His large fists flexed and released. He shifted, an animal readying to strike. Yet in the end, he did not move.

"Even when I give a command like that, I expect it to be obeyed. I command you to try to harm me."

"If I harm you, I will be killed. Mistress."

"If you do not attack me in the next few moments, I will see you flayed alive, slave." She said.

She had expected him to yell some foolish battle-cry, as dwarves and humans were wanting to do. However, he was quiet - and quick. One moment, he stood, the next he'd sprung forward, his clenched fist aimed at her exposed temple.

Another drow, less trained in battle might have been struck. Compared to the near-decade she'd spent under the hands of her battle master, this male moved sluggishly. She ducked, feeling the force of the flow in the air. Stepping forward, she turned her left hand sideways, catching his kidney with a strike even a man his size would feel. Not giving him room to pause, she followed this up by hooking her naked leg behind his, twisting and pushing forward.

He gave a surprised yell and fell backward.

She'd prepared to plant a knee against a sensitive spot in his lower torso but suddenly felt his grip, hard as iron, on her other forearm. With a grunt, Viara was pulled along atop the human. Twisting her arm, slippery with water, she freed herself and struck her hand, shaped as an axe-blade, against his neck.

He blocked the blow, catching her arm, and bared his teeth. "Drow...cunt!" With force, he rolled backward, causing her to roll in a turn.

Viara felt both affront at his words and exhilaration. The situation, the danger, all of it was thrilling. She felt herself grin as she caught herself, quickly rolling to her feet. He's much quicker than he looks - but obviously lacks finesse.

Not giving him pause, she moved forward, delivering a sharp kick to his lower shinbone - the move was too quick for him to react, and he grunted.

"Rivvil slave." She replied. "Is that all your kind can do? No wonder you were caught."

His lips compressed and his eyes blazed.

Oh, see there. He can be enraged. She had experience with that - though her battlemaster had tried beating that out of her for years. Viara feinted, then pulled back. "No wonder you have no companion anymore. Likely you let her get violated by a band of marauding orcs, who finished with her by slitting her throat as you watched." She added a smirk.