It's Not Black & White Ch. 03

Authors Note: A shorter chapter, and one of background and some story. For the sex-crazed of you, the next chapter will be one of far more focus on this ;).

-- Jasmine & Daniel

Viara stretched as she left the reverie, her muscles sore. The combined exercise of her visit to her friends as well as her slave had left her with a pleasant ache in more than one area of her body. Her sex gave a pleasant tingle when she shifted, and she touched herself briefly before getting up.

The slave had been more than adequate last night. She could not remember the last time her peak had come with such intensity - physical or emotional.

Then again, it has been some time since i allowed a male to really touch me. There was certainly a different sensation than what she did with her acquaintances.

Her naked feet tapped on the floor as she moved about her chambers, cinching the morning robe around her waist.

The slave does need some more discipline though. Honest - for certain. No slave had ever shouted at her. Not as such.

Pox-marked drow cunt?

The insult enraged her. It made her watch him with suspicion. Such a male would throw his life away, if he thought he could take his mistress along with him. Thinking about his expression made her shiver, though not in fear.

A male, daring such a tone. None would ever...dare.

Every guard or male of her house she'd ever laid eyes upon had always treated her with the grovelling and subservience suitable for his station and sex. Not him. It made her believe the stories of the surface, where males where often said to be if not dominant, strong and as powerful as women.

Ridiculous, but...

She walked into his chambers. The doors were never locked. He slept without a blanket, the heat apparently too much for him. He shifted when she entered - though apparently did not wake, for he only mumbled and turned. She sneered.

Dreaming.

So...odd. They were unconscious, unable to defend themselves, yet saw...other things. She'd heard of elves who dreamt - but she could never credit it. Her reverie was a pleasant time of relaxation - her only peace.

How can one have peace, any peace, if they must see other things even when they rest?

So defenseless. I could slit your throat in your sleep. Maim you. Castrate you. Harm you, and you could do little to stop me, no? Fool human.

A fool, but a strong fool.

Viara watched his muscles - hard, corded fibers everywhere. From his back to his arms, from his legs to his shoulders. His physique spoke of battle - and the way he'd handled her yestereve much of the same. His hand upon her neck and shoulders had left a bruise that was still aching.

In other races, such as ogres, the differences were grotesque and made her shudder - a different sort of animal altogether. In these humans, they were...different, yet not as much.

He gave a soft growl and turned again.

She smiled with amusement this time, and turned around to leave.

Slaves need their rest.

"Leilena...Veluthe Thiramen."

She froze. One hand where her dagger would be, she turned.

That...rivvil liar!

For a moment, she considered waking him with a knee to his neck - or between his legs. But no. She did not like to be accused of breaking her word without cause or gain - at least not by a slave. His comment yesterday had given her pause, and she was determined to make a suitable, obedient slave out of him.

That slave-mistress at the market. She said slaves without 'spirit' serve little use - and you could carefully squeeze the slave without destroying their spirit.

That mistress's slaves had regarded her not with abject terror and sunken heads, but with abject loyalty and near-mindless worship. One glance had been enough to show Viara that the woman's charges would leap into the path of a bolt for her.

Not because she told them to - but because they saw the bolt coming, and worshipped her - as we worship Lolth. The thought of her being worshipped as such by anyone - even a slave, and not only out of fear, was thrilling.

And with this one, there is no harm done if I need to kill him. Only a slave.

But, the first step was trying to give him structure and order. Expectations and rewards.

So, Viara left - and occupied herself with a morning meal and morning studies as well as sharpening her daggers until the slave woke. She even allowed him to clean himself and dress before calling him over to sit in front of her chair.

"Mistress? What can I do to serve you?"

"Truth, slave." She replied. "Tell me of your...history."

"My history?"

"I do not like repeating myself". She tapped her fingernails on the armrest.

"I..." he frowned. "I was birthed in the northern parts of-"

"No. Not that." She waved him to silence. "I want to know of your...companions. Whom you came with to the lands below. Who were they?"

"I..." He licked his lips. "Mistress. Must I? I would...ask..."

"Yes. I am your mistress - and I want truth. As you say, I may be generous - but I require absolute obedience and truth from you in return." She leaned forward, fixing his eyes with hers "If you lie to me, I will know."

He looked at the floor.

"I will reward you for faithful service. Obedience. Subservience. If you want no females for your pleasure, I can find other rewards. There is no end to the pleasantries available to you if you are faithful. But your mind is to be an open book to me, slave. I demand it."

"I will...try, Mistress Viara."

She started. It was the first time he'd used her first name. She knew some who'd whip him for this, but she found the adoration was...pleasant. Powerful. She cleared her throat. "Your companion, slave. Your female companion."

"Yes?" His eyes grew pained.

"Who was she?"

"A...woman. Fiery. Beautiful. Too good for me, I always believed - yet she loved me anyway. We traveled together for near-on eleven years. We were...together for Seven." He met her eyes. "I believe you have no word for...marriage, mistress."

"Nest'rand" She corrected him, sneering at the weak idea. "It also implies 'doom'."

"Doom. Of course, it does." He shook his head and chuckled weakly. "Well. We were married. She..." Haern glanced down at his hand.

"How old was she, slave?"

"...She was considered mature for her youthful years, mistress."

"And of what...kind was she?" Ha. She felt a thrill along her nerves at his attempt at obfuscation. Not trying to lie to me now, slave?

Haern's throat moved. "A...surfacer, mistress."

'Crack!' She slapped her palm down on the armrest of her chair - hard. "Do not lie to me, slave!" She barked.

"I am not lying. Mistress Viara." He half-rose and met her eyes.

That name does not sound so thrilling now. Worm!

"I heard you, slave. I heard you in your sleep, weak as you are." She hissed. "You spoke hated Eladrin in your sleep! Your companion..." Viara felt her lip twist in a sneer "...She was eladrin. A high elf?"

Haern's eyes widened and he took a deep breath. "Yes." He said simply.

"You came to the upperdark with one of those hated...things?" She hissed. "Why did the slave masters allow you to live?" Anyone found in the company of high elves would have been slaughtered for sport.

"They...did not know."

"Why? How could they not? What happened to her? What did you do?"

"She was not found. She...passed before we were found. She died. No one found her body." His eyes were red-rimmed now, and she saw moisture.

"Weakling. Snivelling little wretch. Will you weep now, slave? You rivvil are worse than those cursed surface monsters! Pathetic slave!" She spat at his feet. "How did she die?"

"I...."

"Tell me!" Her shout rang through the chambers.

"I...killed her." His voice was quiet, yet cut through her shout. He worked his throat visibly, clenching and unclenching his fist.

For a moment, she sat stunned. Surprised. Shocked, even. Not hiding somewhere outside of the city? Dead? She'd heard no attempt at subterfuge or lie from his tongue - and certainly his emotion, however little she could recognize them, seemed real enough.

"You? You killed her, slave? Why?"

"Mistress...please." He whispered.

Viara felt a mix of anger and consideration. She had found some truth. Push him too far and perhaps...Not yet. The language. That is why he speaks elven. These cursed surfacers. Eladrin. That is why he can communicate with such freedom. Revolting, that one of our vile cousins would lie down and breed with one of these...these apes. She took a deep breath.

"The truth, slave. Speak."

He took several deep breaths, ragged. His glare was not one of respect anymore. "She broke both her legs. In a fall. We fell down a canyon, hunted by...your kind, and other monsters. A boulder followed and crushed one leg. Another stone pinned her by her shoulder. Your kind was close. She was..." He took a deep breath. "She knew. She knew she was going to die. Her choices were clean - or in agony."

Viara shifted. Trapped, knowing your demise is imminent. Deserving, certainly, but a poor way to go. Not in battle, but pinned, crushed, and..."She...asked for it, slave?"

"Yes. She did. She asked for it to be done. So I did." His voice had grown cold, lacking the usual emotional inflection surfacers so often had.

So. At last - some truth. What to do with that? It wasn't as she'd suspected. An Eladrin, hiding out in one of the caves outside of the city. He could be lying but...A glance at him, and she dismissed the idea. Surfacers cannot control their emotions. She is dead or gone - one of the two.

"Very well. Truth. You did...passably, slave. Do not hide things such as that from me."

"What was the harm?"

Viara snorted. "Surely your partner spoke of the differences between us. How she would have killed any one of us on sight - and we the same to her. No mercy given."

"Leilena was not like that." His nostrils flared

"No?" she shook her head. "A fool, if true. And double the fool to come here with mercy. Perhaps if she had been better prepared, she would not have been dead. You could be servicing her instead of a far better mistress, hm?"

"She never demande-" He broke off, closing his eyes. His arms quivered.

So touchy. So sensitive. So easy to rile.She rose, pursing her lips. He will never worship me, never beg me for favor, lest he feels some...dependence to me. She'd considered the surfacer term 'trust' - but to aim for or expect trust would be ludicrous. There was use, and to be used. She could instill dependence and worship in him, given time.

Perhaps.

He was watching her. His lips quivered.

"Come." She gestured.

"Where are-"

"I said 'Come', slave!" She barked.

They walked through corridors in their large house, descending spiralling stairs until they reached what lay below even the courtyard. A large hall, perhaps fifty feet on each side was their destination. Viara took in the familiar area.

Clear. Good.

"Go over there. Pick your gear and get prepared."

"Mistress, what..." he looked around but walked over to where she'd indicated.

Viara picked up her steel - a slim but wicked short sword in her right hand, and a longer, straight blade in her left. She strapped on vambraces, a thick set of studded leathers. When she turned to him, he hadn't moved by the other side.

"We are going to fight, slave. Pick your weapons and armor - and prepare."

"...Why, mistress?"

"You are my slave. A gift." She whipped the long blade through the air, and it produced a soft 'swish'. "I wish to see what you can do - more than in the nude and with your hands or your tongue." She flashed him a curve of teeth, adding the last part. "Sometimes, I have need of a slave to act as my second set of eyes or hands. I borrow slaves or males from the house. I would prefer to have someone of my own. A capable fighter - even if you are just as any male."

"Mistress, i-"

"What? Fear? You do not think you can fight me? Do not worry - I have no plans to end your life just yet."

She could almost feel his lips compress in anger.

"I am a capable fighter, mistress. You would...find facing me fully prepared difficult. I do not wish to hurt you."

"Cuts heal." Again she drew her steel through the air and slowly circled him. "Even if you were to reach me with one. And you will not. Slave." She shook her hair, reached back, and tied it into a small tail. "You reek of tension - worse than an orc a fifteen-day without a fight. If you truly are a warrior - as I am - then you will know the value of practice. You are my slave. I order you to practice with me. Or are you perhaps a brawler? Capable with your fists, but little else? If that is the case - speak it, and we can leave. I have no desire to fight a male who can handle only his fists."

Without a word, he began armoring himself. He picked a blade that required two hands to move with ease, a five-foot thing with a black pommel. His armor was one of overlapping metallic plates that gave only the faintest rustle when he moved.

With heavy steps, he moved into the ring. "Mistress, are you sure that-"

She moved with no warning.

Ducking beneath the blade, she brought her leather-clad elbow underneath his left arm and slammed it home with a 'thud'.

"Nghhh!" He grunted.

She followed this up with a sweeping kick that dropped him to his back with a loud 'crash' of metal.

"I believe you claimed knowledge of fighting, ape!" Whip-quick, she moved her long blade to his throat and grinned.

With a growl, he pushed her blade aside with a leather-clad glove and rose. He was quick - surprising for the amount of weight he had to handle.

She struck with the short blade, feinting to create an opening for a stab with her long blade - but he caught on, moving the tip of his sword down, the guard up to catch it with more speed than she'd expected with the weapon.

She followed with rapid strikes, one-two-three in quick succession.

He parried each - and then struck back, his heavy weapon coming down. Seeking advantage, she brought up her steel-clad wrist to block it with a sharp, metallic scrape.

'Scrrchhh' Sparks flew with metallic screech and she grunted in surprise, her left hand numb for a moment. Like...being struck by a lolth-damned lizard. Rivvil...ape! She rounded to break his defense with her short blade, suddenly on guard.

He struck again, and she had to catch it between the guard of her short blade, with part of the tip still reaching her vambrace.

Goddess! Again, the sheer pressure surprised her and she had to grit her teeth. Striking toward one of the hands holding the blade, she managed to get enough room to step back. She raised her steels to guard position and circled him, suddenly warier.

"...Impressive, slave. Not bad at-"

He moved quicker than she could have foreseen. Seeming to start in a lumbering turn for somewhat of an overhead strike, he quickly angled this to the side, leaving her the option of trying to stop the blade with hers, or avoid it entirely.

She chose the latter, and ducked, rolling across the hard floor. Ape slave! Attacking without-...She reminded her of what she'd wanted and put it out of her mind.

She attacked. Her steel flashed left and right. She stabbed, seeking to strike his fingers holding the blade. Slashing towards his leather-protected wrists. Viara knew she was one of the fastest blades in the city outside of the melee masters quarters. But the way he handled that blade to not only attack, but to use every inch of steel to block what she did...it was more than she'd seen.

Viara struck again, and for a moment thought she'd broken through. He caught the sharp, short steel blade in his hand. She met his eyes, triumphant, then felt cold at his answering smile and realized what he meant to do.

His one-handed slice with the blade was powerful enough to ring all the way up her arm when she deflected it with her long blade. It left her numb arm numb, and her grip on the weapon trembled.

"Why, Impressive,mistress. Not bad." His mimicry was good, his smile like a bloodthirsty crescent of teeth.

"Oh, you Rivvil...monkey!"

She pulled her short steel back, no doubt slicing the leather in the process, and tried not to let the numbness in her arm show as she shook it out.

He moved forward and lifted his blade. For a moment she thought he was weakening.

This measured, slow attack with powerful blows she could catch on her vambraces and blades was simple, compared to his earlier form. After a few of them though...Lolth...he's bleeding my strength! Every blow is more difficult to recover from. She was getting slower, and she noticed it.

That she noticed it meant he likely did as well.

He grinned - and not kindly.

She spun, feinting sideways, and ended up on his side, able to deliver a kick that sent him staggering to the side. She followed this up with a series of swift thrusts and slashes. One tore an opening in the leather, and a grunt told her she'd hit home.

But he's good. The thought struck her and she focused. Better than anyone, perhaps except the weapon master. He would make short work of any house guard under our command - if he held a weapon. Yet he is only...Rivvil. He will...She followed, saw the clear opening, and struck with her long steel. She expected him to act as before, deflecting and move.

Her eyes widened in shock when he leaned into it, allowing the blade of her long steel to go through leather, skin and flesh into the mass of his thick forearm. Lolth...no, curses! Too late she realized his intention, trying to pull the steel back - but the angle was wrong.

His full-armed blow, still holding the blade in both hands, caught her right vambrace and the short steel flew from her grip. The blade kept going, pushing against the metal of her armor, and twisting her arm at an unnatural angle.

He was on her, inside her guard and the weight of him bore her to the ground with a bone-grinding 'crash'.

His blade dropped and he put his knee to her throat.

"AH! Rivvil...fool!" She gargled.

"Oh? Mistress?" He pressed down, the tip of his knee against her windpipe until she saw brigh spots flashing.

"Slave...break! Agh...Break! Slave! Enough, i say!"

He paused, then moved off her. He withdrew her steel and tossed it to the ground, shaking blood from the wound in his forearm.

"You arm! Fool slave!"

"Cuts heal, mistress?"

Having her own words thrown back in her face wasn't something Viara enjoyed - or indeed was used to. "Show me." She growled.

He hesitated but moved forward.

She took his forearm and inspected it. Every drow female learned the rudiments of woundwork. She knew a wound in need of healing when she saw one, and one that could be left to binding. Fortunately, this is the latter.

With her fingers on his arm, he seemed to hesitate. "Mistress, I apologize if i hurt-"

"I have no need of your apologies, ape." Viara hissed. For emphasis, she stuck one finger in the wound, causing him to grunt. "You did...well. Better. You did not hold back. That is good. And you are..." She frowned. "Tell me true, slave. How is it one such as you is so...skilled in bladework?"

"Training." He replied quietly. "I have trained every day since i was a stripling large enough to handle a blade."

As have i.

She could see, knowing what she knew now, of ways to best him. However, that she'd allowed herself to be defeated so thoroughly enraged her. She prodded at the wound and nodded in satisfaction. "The cut will heal well enough on its own. You can bind it once we return."