• Mature • [Andaris Dungeons] A Mark of Ownership

[Faith Augustin]

4th Saun, 716

She had in her hands the letter from Master which she needed before arriving here and a small, carefully wrapped package. As much as she knew that this was what was required of her, and as much as she understood that it should, therefore, be a pleasure to her as it illustrated her servitude, her willing acknowledgement of her place, Faith felt nerves boiling in her stomach. Because the two brands that she had been given when she got here had hurt, and she was in that unenviable position of knowing what was to come. She did not wish to embarrass Master when she got there, so she stopped outside and she breathed in and out a few times. Regulating her breathing in that manner meant that she calmed down and that stopped the trembling that she felt taking over her entire form. She cursed herself for that weakness; the fear that she felt was bad, but at least she could hide that. The trembling, though, was an outward sign of her failings as a slave. It was not her flesh, after all, she belonged to Master completely and so he could do with her what he wanted. She had no right to have any emotion about this, he could instruct the men in here to flay the skin from her and there would be nothing that she could do, nor would she.

But still, she had to admit, she was afraid.

To try and focus her mind, she ran through her list of what she had done before she left Master's home this morning. She knew that, in light of this she might not be as effective as she should be for a trial or two afterwards, so she had prepared everything that she could in order to make sure that Master was not inconvenienced. She had prepared a rich beef stew and baked a chicken pie. Vegetables were cut and in salted water, ready to be cooked. After Jamal had branded her (and of course, he had done the one on her neck himself. She had come here for the one for the symbol of Rynmere) he had sat her in front of the fire for three trials straight. She did not think that Master would do that, the heat had been a torture the like of which was second only to the branding itself, but she wanted to ensure that she had as much ready as possible.

There was no point putting this off any longer. So, she stepped forward and walked up to the guard desk. The girl who walked in that trial wore her long black hair tied back and braided, so that after the brand it would not catch in the seared skin. She wore a sleeveless black dress and no make up. Her features were filling out, but currently she was as white as a sheet. When the guard looked up, looked her up and down and asked, in a bored voice "State yer business" Faith spoke, frustrated with herself to find that her voice was shaking. The trembling was back and there was no stopping it now, she knew.

"My Master has sent me here for branding. I have here the documents of ownership, my Master's letter and seal expressing his wishes and the brand itself which is to be used" she said, handing over the documents with hands which shook. The guard looked at it, nodded and motioned for her to stand over there, which she did.

"Wait there. You will be called" he said, and Faith nodded "Thank you, sir" she said, sounding not unlike a frightened child.

[Vakhanor]

Tristan Venora the inked name on the signed parchment repulsed Vakhanor like that of an onion. This girl was one he had met before down at the undertakers and it appeared she had a new master, a man he knew and had general distaste for. Guarded by the mask that covered his face the executioner eyed the young thing for a moment "It will be done," the distorted sound of his cold muffled voice uttered, closing the parchment in his hands. Nobles were a sick breed, even more so to take slaves like this one and use them for their discrepancies.

Darkness crept at every corner of the dungeon, sheltering the dreams of many pained souls whaling to be released from their piss stained cells. "Forward," he ordered, his gloved hand pushing her thin, weak frame through the dungeons with unrelenting force, he would treat her here for what she was; a slave. In this world Vakhanor was not her friend, not the man behind an anvil with soft hopes toward humanity. He was the man he had been trained to be, a man that killed innocents and enjoyed watching the people he hated suffer and the man that would gladly watch the world burn.

Vakhanor opened the door and the hinges creaked in welcome to their new victim, opening into a dark room devoid of decoration other than a single chair, a workbench of tools, forge and chains. Wordlessly taking her arm and strapping it her onto the chair. There were many things that Vakhanor liked to use a forge for but branding was not among them.

"Six," the voice of his superior called from outside of the door "The brand has been provided, make quick work of her and leave no bruises. The kings respect for the Venora house has earned them the respect to have our finest service. Do you understand?"

"Yes, One" the training executioner replied, focusing his eyes on the woman.

"Remember what we taught you six, the place the Iron against the skin. She will scream, they all do. What do you do when they scream Six?" his employer asked.

"Let it feed me," he replied, tightening the chains as his employer stepped into the room and placed the brand on a workbench near the forge.

"What are their cries?" One drilled into him.

"Meaningless," Vakh said, the bitter tones of his voice seeping through. Whatever Faith had been to him outside of his job, in the eyes of the man in front of her she was nothing but a job, an object that served no other purpose than to garner information and money from.

Once satisfied, number one finally left the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Vakh to do his duty.

"Be ready to feel pain."

[Faith Augustin]

And, as he had said she would be, she was called. The man who took her away for the branding was a tall one (although almost everyone was to Faith, in fairness) and a mask hid his face. That made sense, Faith considered, it must be something that should be done in as non-human a way as possible. It had to be something that he trained for for a long time, to be able to inflict pain on a stranger. She understood, in a very unique way, that he had a job to do. It was a job just like a slavers job, just like a trainer of slaves. Each one of them performed a function in making the slave the best that they could be and this man did that his way. But still, she wished that she would stop trembling, stop being so damnably afraid.

He pushed her and she stumbled, falling forwards and scuffing her hand on the floor. "I'm sorry... I..I'm sorry" she said, scrambling to her feet and moving as fast as she could. This man behind her did not relent and he pushed her onwards, to the room where the branding was to happen. They got there, and the door creaked open. Stumbling slightly, though keeping her balance this time, she made her way into the room that could have been a painting in the front of room of a torture chamber fanatic. It was ... bare. Like this man, she thought, this man who might go home tonight and kiss his wife, muss his children's hair and this man who loved... someone. Alive or dead, he loved, she did not doubt and so this room was like him and he was like this room. Bare except for the tools needed. She watched, apparently dispassionately, as he took her arm and strapped it to the bench, strapped her to the chair. That was good, she thought, there would be no movement this way.

She was surprised to find that she had stopped trembling.

As 'One' spoke to 'Six', Faith just looked back (although she did not know it) at the man in front of her. He was just a man. He was going to do this and then it would be done. For him and for her. It would be done and over with. He tightened the chains and she heard the conversation between them. She would scream, of course she would. She would not try not to, that would be foolish. Her screams would feed him? She wondered if that was true, if they truly would. She did not think so, in truth, but she could not say why she didn't. Maybe because she didn't want them to.

But then, "One" left. And there was more that her brander would say to her. Be ready he told her, and Faith breathed in, closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Then she opened her eyes and looked directly at him "Yes, Master" she said. When Jamal had owned her she had been required to call every free man and woman master or mistress. Not so with Tristan, but she was not reverting back to old behaviours, in fact. He was doing her master's bidding as surely as she was. He was, in this moment, the extension of Master himself and she had to remember that. If it was Master doing this, then she could accept it, she could do it. He had not sent her to a stranger to burn her, he had sent her to the person most able to carry out the job that needed to be done. "We are both doing his bidding with his property." she whispered to herself and she waited, passively.

It would hurt, and she would scream. It would stop, and she would heal. And all of that at her Master's command. Somehow, strapped and chained and waiting for the pain, it all made a lot more sense than it had when waiting to be brought here. They were both simply serving Master, which was how it should be, for his wishes were paramount.

[Vakhanor]

Fires pinpointed against skin steamed its mark, tarnishing the smooth as fleshy bag of meat that stood before Vakhanor submitted itself to the agony. Delighted to try something new, Vakhanor was more than eager to hurt her. It had been too long since he had felt the rush of causing others pain, and although he had used a forge time and time again, this was the first time he ever got to brand another.

Every moment the mark dug into her skin he began to enjoy it more as he remembered the rush of adrenaline. "Watch the world burn, Vakhanor," the echo of his father's words rung clearly in his mind, as he'd watched the Aukari slaughter the innocents and enslave them. The world sought him pain and this girl... through no knowing of her own cause was another reason why humans were supposedly weak. They were frail to the fires of the mountain and unfortunately so was he.

Slaves were a natural part of society and yet somehow he had taken it into his heart to despise the cause of their imprisonment. Of course he did. Over the course of the years of raising Bjorn, Vakhanor had turned into a different person. He was a kinder man with more value for life, value for the innocent and simple things. Being a parent had given him the promise of being a good man, but that was gone.

Vakhanor held the scalding hot meld against her skins a few trills longer than he had intended to, singing the mark onto her skin. Faith may had felt more pain than she would have needed to, but at least he had been thorough and the idea of damaging Tristan Venora's property as a man who would never been known to the noble as himself was ever so slightly gratifying. And just like that, it was over. "It is done," the executioner said finally, placing the iron inside into a bucket of water kept alongside the forge "You are free to return to your master."

Militant in his dexterity, Vakhanor was quick to set the tools into their allocated positions and return to Faith's side ready to lead her away from the dungeons "I will lead you out."

[Faith Augustin]

There was a sudden change in the man who was doing this to her. One moment he was a man doing a job, but the next moment he was not. He was no longer a being, he was a totally different thing. It was a sudden and complete shift and it unnerved her, in truth. It was like between one moment and the next he was a totally different character, a different way of being. One of who was simply sadistic. And in a way, that made her relax because Faith understood, more than almost anything, what a sadist was and what he did.

So, she watched him as he worked and she promised herself that she would hold off screaming as long as possible. She would scream, there was no doubting it, but if she could stop herself as long as she could, then she would be happy and content.

And he put the brand against her.

Everything disappeared from her senses except that. It was beautiful in it's way, she knew, the simple searing poetry that he pushed against her. And of course, she screamed. She screamed in pain and in anguish as every nerve in her body lit. She felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing except the white hot searing pain. And the only other sense that lit was her olfactory senses as she smelled her own flesh burning. And when it stopped, of course, it did not stop. It did not stop and would not for trials, she knew that.

Her head fell forward and she heard the hissing of the brand in the water. The pain in her arm was beyond anything she knew and Faith lifted her head and looked at the man who had done that to her. "I... the brand" she said, her voice husky with pain. "I must take it home... back to Master" sweat stuck her hair to her head and she lifted her mist-grey eyes to look at him. Straight at him. "I am sorry... so sorry that you must... must do this. " she said and she shook her head, determinedly.

She would get herself out. Because if he pushed her, now, then she was quite sure that she would fall. And he would push her and this time? Well this time she was fairly sure that he would do so hoping that she fell. But she could not argue, would not argue. What was the point?

So, she waited for him to unstrap her and then she would let him lead her out.

[Squirrel]

Faith

Story: 5
Structure: 5
Collaboration: 5

Basic Knowledges:
Rynmere: Andaris Dungeons
Slavery: Your body belongs to your Master
Slavery: You have no right to any emotions
Six: Your torturer/brander

Specialized Knowledges:
Slavery: Everyone who acts out your Masters wishes on you is an extension of your Master
Pain fades, but the brand is forever.


Wounds: A brand of ownership, on her arm. It will remain bright and very sensitive over the next several trials, and will gradually fade to become a permanent addition to her body. The mark will no longer be sensitive in thirty trials.

Vakhanor

Story: 5
Structure: 5
Collaboration: 3

Basic Knowledges:
One: Your employer.
Intimidation: Remaining impersonal gives authority.

Specialized Knowledges:
Torture: Pain will feed you.
Torture: Remain anonymous to prevent repurcussions.
Damaging slaves is just damaging property.

Additional Notes: Vak, because you only wrote two posts, I wasn't able to award you the full collaboration marks. The story was good, it was a quick, smooth little thread that I felt added some good weight to both characters. General structure of storytelling was wonderful, although for Vak I did find a lack of continuity in your posts when leading on from Faith's, which made the transitions between posts a little jarring and unfortunately broke flow. Overall, however, I did thoroughly enjoy the thread and I hope you're happy with your grades. If not, don't hesitate to send me a PM.