The Taller they Stand, the Harder they Fall

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He looked interested as she mentioned speaking, it was more than he did to say the least. He took lives, in a way she changed lived. Still her words of concern about her beliefs were met with a small frown, his hand working along her side as she leaned against him. Wanting to comfort her while he chewed her words. His world, his gods, had been so very different than her own. It was hard for him to relate, to comprehend her existence beyond the physical one he had against him now.

"My gods say every man works for his due, even slaves are only kept for a few years before their freedom is granted." He spoke after a long moment, "men fight for their honour, the king is no stronger than the peasant if challenged to fight. It is an uneasy world but it is a just world, the strength of one's back is the greatest asset one could have." He replied while he let his hand rest upon her arm, gently gripping her while he pondered his own words. "Our worlds are very different Cass..."
 
Another frown crept over her face. "Then... I am glad I am not in the world of your gods, either," She admitted. "My back is weak. I suppose it is just, as long as you are a man, tall and strong and built to fight." Pulling away from him, she walked over to the bed and sat down, her brows knit still. "You have a world where you belong, Iren. I envy you that. This world is the one I am born into, but it is not where I belong," The oracle insisted. "I cannot belong in a world where chance of birth gives power any more than I could belong in a world ruled by strength."

What sort of world did she belong in? It was a question that gnawed at her still. Perhaps there was no world in which she fit in. Blind, female, weak, with hardly any skills... there was no world where she won, no ruling class she belonged in. But ruling... no, she did not want to rule. She wanted to see the world -well, to experience the world- and earn her keep, to get paid for what she did instead of given what she needed. Why was a fair and just world so hard to come by? Did the immortal Astroph not preach that through hard work, sacrifice, and adherence to the tenants, man and his world could ascend and touch heaven itself?
 
He frowned slightly at her response to his world, his eyes lowering slightly as she left him to go to the bed. A small sigh escaped him before he rose and followed her to the bed, climbing up and sitting at the foot of it. "You would have a husband in my world, a husband who's strength you could rely upon to the utmost... my world wasn't meant for the weak, this is true, the winter is perpetual and harsh but we rely upon eachother's strengths as much as our own."

A slight crack of the neck came from him while he stretched out only to lean back on his forearms, eyes turned to the ceiling. "I could've shown you the world if we had met under better circumstances... my people trade with all cultures we find, we only raid those who refuse our good will..." A slight chuckle escaped him as he recalled his old life, the life of a warrior first and a farmer second. Still it was a good life, he didn't go hungry and neither did his family.
 
She snorted. "Right now, I have a temple," The slavegirl reminded him. "If I wanted to rely on someone else to provide for me and protect me, I don't think I could do much better. I would like to see your world, Irenmund, but I would be no better off there than here." Cassi wondered briefly what he would do, if he were free to do as he wished. It was a silly question, though. He would leave, he would return home to a land where he could stand tall. Every slave would leave their master, if they knew they had a place to go. If she was granted her freedom tomorrow... she would return to the temple and ask to continue being their Oracle.

"What I would give to be a man of your world," She admitted after a moment. "I would love to see the world with mine own eyes, to trade with men as equals, to go out raiding and earn honor with steel. It sounds like a grand adventure..."
 
He smiled softly, "It is a grand adventure... much more so than many lives this world has to offer." He replied with a nod as he leaned himself against the wall, simply watching her before another growl escaped his stomach. "So... what do you have in the basket?" He asked with a canter of his head a small chuckle escaping him, embarrassed by his stomach's insistence for food. A day of fighting would do that to you though, the smell of food was almost too much for him, though he was trying to contain himself.
 
She laughed softly, and immediately felt guilty about it. While the sounds his stomach made were strange enough to amuse her, she knew she oughtn't feel such a way about his hunger... yet the giggles still escaped her as she opened the basket, pulling out a bottle. A quick sniff at the top made her frown.... it was fruity, but not a fruit she recognized. "Some sort of juice or wine," She murmured, handing it to him for further inspection. After the bottle came a loaf of crusty bread, a wrapped wheel of soft white farmer's cheese the size of her palm, a miniature clay jar full of olives, and a bunch of grapes, slightly withered but sweet to the smell.
 
He smirked slightly, unsure as to why she was so amused by his stomach but accepting it as a quirk and not much more. He took the bottle curiously giving it a smell before putting it to his lips and taking a drink. "I'm not sure but it tastes fine." He replied with a small shrug, another drink coming before he placed it against the wall and went for the bread, breaking it up for them and giving her some peices by placing them in her lap. The soft cheese was opened as well, taking a bit and rubbing it to his bread before he ate with a small sigh of delight. "Sooo much better than gruel..." He muttered happily, speaking as if he were in heaven.
 
"Gruel?" She asked softly, surprised by the knowledge. "Surely... surely they feed you better than gruel, to give you energy for the battles?" A man needed meat, to make his muscles powerful, and vegetables, so his bones and organs would be strong as well. The laws of diet for the priests of Astroph were very strict, and only somewhat more lenient for the slaves. Twice to four times a day, a portion of grains. Twice or thrice per day, a portion of vegetables. Once or twice a day, a portion of fruits. And no less than once per week, the flesh of sea-creatures. Sweets and red meat eaten only when in company, only when shared.

Usually, for breakfast she would get a bowl of hot oats with a dried apricot or two sliced into them, with a dash of cream or a small pat of butter if it was available. Lunch was often flatbread with roasted vegetables, or a hearty stew with a thick slice of brown bread, or rice with curried vegetables. For dinner, a repeat of lunch or, on the fourthday, a fish fillet or shrimp gumbo or oysters with hot sauce, or something of the sort. The temple slaves must be fed according to the wishes of god, or they would profane his holy house. Did the pit fighters not have such guidelines?
 
"No, it's gruel, barley and fat, nothing more..." He replied with a sigh, not caring that he was missing evening meal. He had cheese and bread, he was happier than any man he knew at this very moment. A small chuckle escaped him, "Why give good food to those who are about to die?" He questioned with a canter of his head, chewing away as he spoke. He was every part the barbarian still, never known proper table manners. In his lands it was meat and grain, hearty roots and rare meats. A tall tankard of mead or beer to wash it all down with and a happy girl sitting on your lap.

Here it was barley and fat, water to drink and even then the water was from the higher wells, tasting of filth. No one cared about his kind beyond watching them fight. No one cared that they were treated well before they died. They wanted to see blood and violence, something these city folk would never meet in life. A sick fantasy, he's heard it called that. Still one chance at a fine meal like this with a girl like the one across from him, he'd walk through hell for this.
 
She shook her head, hardly able to believe what passed for care down here. According to Astroph, slaves were an important part of society, and though they were the lowest, it was the mark of a truly civilized nation when the lowest slave was still more comfortable than the rough barbarians of the wild. This was truly a godless place. Eating her bread and cheese in silence, she mused over the world around her, about the lives in it... about Iren, and how she wished so badly for a life with him.

After a minute, her food gone, she reached out a hand, pressing it to his chest just above his heart. "Perhaps... perhaps you are not fated to die like this," the Oracle murmured, reaching into his future facefirst. As her mortal form went rigid and still, Cassiphaea's soul was sorting desperately through his fate. She saw an axe cleave him, collar to hip. She saw a sword struck through his chest, an arrow pierce his neck, a trident take him in the side and twist, tear, rip its three sharp teeth through the soft flesh. She saw a lock rusted, a door broken, an escape attempt ended by a quick sword thrust. She saw him climb half the pit wall, only to be pierced a dozen times over by quarrels.

And then... then she saw herself, and frowned, reaching further into the vision. A city in flames while an enormous hand twisted in the sky overhead, every finger shifting and reforming more rapidly than she could follow. Broken chain links clattered into gold coins on the cobbles of the street, but when men bit them to test their worth, the coins turned to ash in their mouths. A child wailed for food, but the only meal his father could scrounge up was pride. And standing over the city was Irenmund, a crown of bloody, broken manacles on his head, with her beside him, a babe in arms with the face of God.

Shaken, she pulled away from the vision, trembling and surprised to find tears streaming down her cheeks.
 
Iren feared what had happened when she touched him, eyes wide in confusion as she fell so deathly still, only her tears let him know she was alive. For the first time his heart was pounding, truly pounding in his chest. He couldn't know what she was doing, only assume. A she seemed to wake, the trembling alerted him to grab her. He pulled her near, not caring about the crumbs in his lap while he brought her close. His breathing was fast and shallow, truly worried. "What... Cass..." He couldn't fathom what had happened, nor words to express his confusion about what had just befallen her. All he knew, all he felt, was concern. "What just happened?" He managed after a long while, managing to finally find his voice.
 
His arms felt like home. Though she still trembled as she clung back to him as tightly as she could, it was more from excitement and exhaustion than fear now. "I... I saw a future," Cassiphaea murmured, snuggling against him as though to assure herself that this was real. Then, slowly, piece by piece, she explained the vision to him as best she could, from flaming city to coins to the crown on his head. It was difficult to say and she was sure that she was missing some parts. "That... I do not know how likely of a future it is," She admitted after a moment. "I know only that it may happen. It is so charged with energy, with emotion, that it rises to the top of the pool even though it is not directly down your path."
 
Iren listened in relative silence, more amazed that she was able to see all of that than anything else. His eyes fell closed, slowly mulling over all she had confessed to him. The pain, the death, it meant little to him, but her at his side with a child meant the world. How did he achieve something of this magnitude? How did he escape his bonds? A slow sigh escaped him while he rested his head upon her own. Smelling her hair he worked to sort his thoughts, slowly working out how to get them out. It would take time, it would take an entire revolt. "Then how do I get onto the right path?" He questioned while his hands eased the tightness of the embrace, seeing her calming down as well he didn't want to hurt her.
 
She could hardly imagine where to begin. Books and discussion of such topics were strictly outlawed- no one wanted the slaves to know, or even theorize, how best to break their chains and escape the clutches of their masters. The idea of tearing off the annoying belled collar around her neck, though, made her wonder, made her think, made her fantasize about how best it might be done. "The fire is significant," She determined after a moment. "I feel... I feel we must strike when there is some sort of fire. But we must be ready by then. I think I saw your fellow pit-fighters standing atop the greatest buildings, so perhaps... perhaps you and they shall lead? But there were horses riding people and an onion slicing up a chef as well, so I assume that all men will shrug off their duties and reverse the order of things."
 
He gave a slow nod, his head resting upon her own while he pondered her words. "Fire... fire..." He mumbled trying to see if he knew anything of a fire. "Any ceremonies coming? I know you must have some around a fire... the only fire we see is those where heretics are executed or to warm us..." He spoke with a deep frown, his bearded features looking contemplative while he held her, gently rubbing her back. He had to pause a moment to chuckle. "An onion cutting up a chef? How?" He questioned wondering how such a thing could work let alone appear to her. He wasn't one to question her, he couldn't understand what she saw any more than she could understand what he saw. Still he had to ponder it, the imagery making him laugh once more as he held her tighter. He would die for her if she asked. A chance at freedom and he'd kill just for her.
 
She nuzzled against him gently as he rubbed her back, feeling herself relax. The prophecy left her exhausted, but it had been a good one... a great one, really. The amount of detail, the length, the clarity of faces and objects... it was one of her finest, looking back on it. Try as Cassiphaea might, though, she couldn't quite bring to mind a festival or ceremony involving fire that would tie it to a date. Fuel was scarce in the city, and Astroph called for none of the great bonfires of the sort barbaric faiths so favored. The warrior-god and his smiths would light fires once per year, but she didn't know when, not exactly.

Then his question hit her, and she giggled aloud thinking about it. "I... honestly don't know. I don't think I see quite like you see," The Oracle admitted softly. "I don't know how it would work, but it is what the vision presented to me. Without eyes, I don't know how to compare foresight to simple sight..."
 
He chuckled lightly, leaning down to kiss her forehead, showing her a bit of affection while he sighed. "Well that's a good enough reason for me I suppose." He replied with a nod, accepting that she couldn't explain and allowing the comical image in his mind to work for him. He was a simple man, he didn't need long philosophy. Taking another drink from the bottle he offered it back to her while he wiped his mouth with his off hand. May as well enjoy whatever the alcohol was while they could, after all it wasn't something gladiators got often if ever. He figured it would be the same for her small world.
 
She took a long drink herself, saving the flavor. It wasn't a berry familiar to her, though the scent was vaguely familiar from the priest's kitchens. Was it blackberry or raspberry or strawberry, perhaps? She had never tasted any of them, but their strange smells had made her question the cooks that sliced them. It could have been something entirely different, though. After fermentation a taste could change, and there was no saying that the taste and smell were even all that similar. Though it was a mystery, she quite enjoyed the flavor.

"What about you?" She asked after a moment, tilting her head curiously. "What is it like to use your own abilities?"
 
"Me? I have to be hurt in order to use my abilities..." He replied with a small sigh, his eyes trailing down into the scars that lined his body. "When I'm cut, when I shed blood, it becomes hard on my skin... making a certain type of armor..." Slowly he flexed his muscles, old wounds still caused him aches and pains. "It goes away after a while though, water is a weakness since it washes the blood away." His eyes lifted to her, gently taking her hand and placing it to his arm, letting her feel the slightly raised lines that criss-crossed his body. "Each one is a cut, each one happened while I was a slave..." He spoke before he brought her fingers to the new ones, "These just happened, the blood that came from them saved my life."
 
She gasped softly, fingertips trailing over the scars. At once soft and firm, the texture fascinated her. She had so few scars of her own, none really worth mentioning... but his skin was a canvas for injuries to paint a picture of a life filled with death, and pain, and violence. "That's... terrible," Cassi gashped after a moment. On a sudden thought she pressed her lips to the nearest scar, kissing it gently, with the most gentle caress she could manage. From that she moved to another, and another, as though she were a mother of a young child, trying most desperately to soothe every hurt with a simple peck.
 
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