Q
Quatre Winner
Guest
Original poster
The royal city of Bram sat in a low valley under the Whitecap Mountain, at the center of the Great Crossroads. It had been the hub of trade between the kingdom of Ogenta and the outside world for generations, and consequently Bram was a rich and prosperous city, but it could not exactly be called a happy one. Not if the majority of the population was asked its opinion, which it never was.
Freemen had many opportunities in Bram that they could not find elsewhere. The many, many slaves who served them had none. Their presence may have stirred the compassion of a few, but mostly they were a silent, ignored fixture of life. Human, elf, dwarf, nymph, anyone or anything that could be caught. No one asked how they were made subservient, or where they came from, so long as the slaves served their purpose. They toiled in fields, cleaned homes, guarded livestock, served in Ogenta's fierce armies. They did whatever was expected of them, but even among themselves there was a hierarchy. The lowest of the low were the pleasure slaves.
In the kingdom of Ogenta, when young men came of age, it was the tradition for their fathers to gift them with a pleasure slave for 'practice', so they would later be able to produce strong, healthy sons with their wives. They were always male slaves so there were no unwanted pregnancies. That was the theory, anyway; dalliances with female servants were heavily frowned upon. The last thing any of the great Ogentan families wanted was a half-slave child mucking up their family tree.
The royal house was especially protective of its line, and of those allowed to associate with their heir apparent. They had even been careful not to let him have any but ugly female slaves waiting on him throughout his life. However, today had seen the end of a week-long celebration of the prince's coming-of-age, where he would be receiving his very first pleasure slave. Until a suitable young woman of royal birth could be found to marry him, the prince would 'practice' on this new slave. Given the fact that this was the prince, speculation ran rampant about what the slave would look like, as they were chosen mostly for their beauty.
However, as custom dictated, the new slave had been sent straight to the prince's chambers, so none but the king's chancellor and the prince's personal servants knew for sure. The chancellor just gave knowing looks and said nothing, and the servants had been too busy all day to gossip. Inside the prince's chambers, they were busy putting the last finishing touches to his room, bustling about to make everything perfect for his first night as a man.
Only one figure in the room remained motionless, and the servants moved about as though he didn't exist. They had not even spoken to him the whole time they made sure he was bathed and doused with the usual oils and perfumes. There was a strict barrier between them, just as there was between the servants and their prince. Slaves of his sort were not to be objects of pity, were not to be talked to, any more than one would converse with a pretty piece of furniture.
Nor did the slave try to speak to them. He seemed unaffected by what they were doing, and stayed on the prince's luxurious bed where he had been placed, motionless and silent.
The slave had his head bowed, a shock of white, almost feathery hair hiding his eyes, hands palm upward on his bony knees in the usual posture of the defeated. His skin was pale, almost milk-white like his hair, especially in the moonlight that caught the contour of a slim shoulder and cheek. In sharp contrast were the many scars, old and recent, that stood out on the visible areas of skin. Everywhere except his face. One might have been forgiven for thinking, at first, that it was a ghost of some long-lost victim of the king's wars. The slave wore only a short, sleeveless white tunic and a heavy silver collar around his thin neck, which bore the symbol of the crown- a sign of the king's ownership. Obvious signs of skin rubbed raw by such collars darkened the skin underneath.
In spite of the scars, anyone who knew the first thing about slaves would have seen the quality of this one right away in his pointed ears. Elves were an exceedingly difficult race to capture, so this one would have cost a king's ransom. How he had come to be a slave at all no one had ever bothered to ask, nor did he show what he felt as he knelt on the bed, awaiting yet another master.
(Your response doesn't need to be this long, and mine probably won't be, either. I may have gone overboard setting things up. If there's anything you want to change at any time, let me know, and I'll change it. Very little is set in stone. That's half the fun of an rp!)
Freemen had many opportunities in Bram that they could not find elsewhere. The many, many slaves who served them had none. Their presence may have stirred the compassion of a few, but mostly they were a silent, ignored fixture of life. Human, elf, dwarf, nymph, anyone or anything that could be caught. No one asked how they were made subservient, or where they came from, so long as the slaves served their purpose. They toiled in fields, cleaned homes, guarded livestock, served in Ogenta's fierce armies. They did whatever was expected of them, but even among themselves there was a hierarchy. The lowest of the low were the pleasure slaves.
In the kingdom of Ogenta, when young men came of age, it was the tradition for their fathers to gift them with a pleasure slave for 'practice', so they would later be able to produce strong, healthy sons with their wives. They were always male slaves so there were no unwanted pregnancies. That was the theory, anyway; dalliances with female servants were heavily frowned upon. The last thing any of the great Ogentan families wanted was a half-slave child mucking up their family tree.
The royal house was especially protective of its line, and of those allowed to associate with their heir apparent. They had even been careful not to let him have any but ugly female slaves waiting on him throughout his life. However, today had seen the end of a week-long celebration of the prince's coming-of-age, where he would be receiving his very first pleasure slave. Until a suitable young woman of royal birth could be found to marry him, the prince would 'practice' on this new slave. Given the fact that this was the prince, speculation ran rampant about what the slave would look like, as they were chosen mostly for their beauty.
However, as custom dictated, the new slave had been sent straight to the prince's chambers, so none but the king's chancellor and the prince's personal servants knew for sure. The chancellor just gave knowing looks and said nothing, and the servants had been too busy all day to gossip. Inside the prince's chambers, they were busy putting the last finishing touches to his room, bustling about to make everything perfect for his first night as a man.
Only one figure in the room remained motionless, and the servants moved about as though he didn't exist. They had not even spoken to him the whole time they made sure he was bathed and doused with the usual oils and perfumes. There was a strict barrier between them, just as there was between the servants and their prince. Slaves of his sort were not to be objects of pity, were not to be talked to, any more than one would converse with a pretty piece of furniture.
Nor did the slave try to speak to them. He seemed unaffected by what they were doing, and stayed on the prince's luxurious bed where he had been placed, motionless and silent.
The slave had his head bowed, a shock of white, almost feathery hair hiding his eyes, hands palm upward on his bony knees in the usual posture of the defeated. His skin was pale, almost milk-white like his hair, especially in the moonlight that caught the contour of a slim shoulder and cheek. In sharp contrast were the many scars, old and recent, that stood out on the visible areas of skin. Everywhere except his face. One might have been forgiven for thinking, at first, that it was a ghost of some long-lost victim of the king's wars. The slave wore only a short, sleeveless white tunic and a heavy silver collar around his thin neck, which bore the symbol of the crown- a sign of the king's ownership. Obvious signs of skin rubbed raw by such collars darkened the skin underneath.
In spite of the scars, anyone who knew the first thing about slaves would have seen the quality of this one right away in his pointed ears. Elves were an exceedingly difficult race to capture, so this one would have cost a king's ransom. How he had come to be a slave at all no one had ever bothered to ask, nor did he show what he felt as he knelt on the bed, awaiting yet another master.
(Your response doesn't need to be this long, and mine probably won't be, either. I may have gone overboard setting things up. If there's anything you want to change at any time, let me know, and I'll change it. Very little is set in stone. That's half the fun of an rp!)