FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Myrra stood on the docks, watching as the crew scampered about preparing the airship for lift-off. The morning sun blazed down upon her, wrapping her in its warm rays and making her white hair shine like a blazing star.

She was finally free of the dresses, of the makeup and fancy hair, of the perfect posturing and everything else that was required of her when she was in court. Right now, she felt more like herself than ever. Dressed in brown slacks that were tucked into her usual leather boots and a long brown coat that fell to her ankles, and underneath that, a dark green blouse. A captain's cap rested atop her head, the bill blocking the sun from blinding her, and around her neck hung a pair of flight goggles.

She tugged on a pair of fingerless, leather gloves, strapping them in place and flexing her fingers so her hands could get use to them. She had been expecting to take a horse and carriage to get to Idota, but after being promoted yesterday, she had been informed that she would be receiving her very own airship! A prototype at that, designed for speed as well as combat. Now, what would have been a weeklong journey, would only take a day or two.

They didn't have very many large airships, and as big as this one is, it would be considered on the smaller side. Building docks for these vessels was quite tedious and rather expensive. Large swaths of the forest needed to be cleared in order to build the landing platforms as well as to be big enough for the ships to land without harm.

Human airships still require large propellers, and on occasions, massive balloons, to keep them aloft. Elven airships, on the other hand, are much more refined. However, there are a few advantages the humans have over the elves. Like how their ships are able to actually land, while the elven airships have to remain floating, anchored to the ground by large rope tethers that usually span a foot or more in width.

Myrra's ship was sleek and streamlined, the massive arcane crystal that hangs from a framework of metal and wood being what keeps the ship afloat. It is because of the large, house-sized crystal, that the ship can be built out of much sturdier materials, like iron-wood and arcana infused metals. However, it is also the reason their ships could not land on the ground. Along with the crystal being the source of flight for the airship, it also acts as a power source for the ballista, canons, arcane missiles, and many other weapons that were hidden beneath the hull.

Myrra had captained several airships on numerous occasions, mainly when her diplomatic abilities were required far off in other countries, but never had she owned one herself. With the amount of magical weaponry the ship was bristling with, as well as the arcane crystal and magically infused metals that made up part of the hull, the air around the vessel was just buzzing with arcana. She half-wondered if perhaps this ship alone could win them the war before it even began.

“Myrra~!" Her thoughts are interrupted by a familiar bubbly voice calling out her name.

Turning around, she sees Avos, dressed in a simple white shirt and a pair of light-blue harem pants, running towards her. He weaved through the crowd of dockworkers and dodged around towering stacks of crates and supplies. Queen Evalon and royal protector Viessa trailed behind him, chatting to one another as the workers easily parted around them, bowing to her Majesty as she passed before getting back to work.

Before she knew what was happening, Myrra was almost toppled over by a blonde-haired, bubbly bullet.

“Oof!" Myrra gasps, staggering backwards as the short human, short compared to an elf that is, hugged her around the waist. The only reason she hadn't fallen over was because she had used a bit of arcana to steady her balance. Avos was sometimes too hyperactive.

“I'm going to miss you, Myrra," said Avos, looking up at her face with his big, expressive, blue eyes.

She laughed and patted him on the head, “I'm only going to be gone for a week at most."

“I know~," he groaned, “But that's still so long and you're going out on a dangerous mission and I'm scared I won't get to say goodbye if something happens to you!"

“Do you really think me, a Symbol Bearer, is going to get taken out so easily?" She smirks, raising an eyebrow at him.

He pulls away from the hug and grumbles, “No… But you're like a sister to me, we're family and I worry about you."

“Don't worry, Avos, I'll come back in one piece."

“Promise?"

“Promise."

“Really Avos, you're acting like I'm sending Myrra to her death," said the queen disapprovingly, shaking her head as she and Viessa walked up to them.

“Well you kind of are!" He shot back, crossing his arms and pouting.

“Oh hush, you hyperactive monkey," Evalon scolded, swatting him on the head with the folding fan she was carrying.

“You know I hate it when you call me that! As much as the rest of the world would like to believe, humans are not descended from monkeys!" He grumbles, rubbing the top of his head.

Viessa barely holds back a snicker while Myrra laughs boisterously.

“Do you carry that thing around just to hit Avos with, Auntie?" questioned Myrra, gesturing towards the fan in the queen's hands.

“Pretty much," she shrugs.

“We've come to see you off and wish you luck on your mission," says Viessa, steering the conversation back to their original purpose.

“Thank you, Viessa. Good luck to you as well, I'm sure leading the military will be quite the challenge." The two clasp hands, giving each other a firm shake.

“Suppose that drinks gonna have to wait, huh?" Viessa chuckled.

Myrra smirks and nods, “I'm afraid it will. When I get back, however, we're going to the Rose Petal Pub, whether you like it or not!"

“We most certainly are not!" exclaimed her friend, looking aghast.

“Oh we most certainly are!" Myrra shot back, narrowing her azure eyes at Viessa, daring her to argue. There was a buzz in the air as the two glared at one another, a battle of wills going on as they both tried to stare the other one down. It wasn't long before Viessa finally backed down, Myrra smirking as she was once again the victor of one of their many silent battles.

“Fine, fine! Have it your way," her friend groans, throwing up her hands in defeat. Viessa was not a fan of the Rose Petal Pub and Myrra still had no clue why. Perhaps she will ask when she gets back.

The queen stepped forward next, embracing her niece and saying, “I'm proud of you Myrra, and I'm sure your mother would be too. I would wish you luck, but knowing you, I doubt you'll need it."

“Thank you Auntie, that means a lot to me." She embraces her aunt one last time before turning to Avos.

“Unlike my loving wife here," Avos begins, smirking as a flash of annoyance graces the queen's features, “I wish you good luck. Even if you don't need it, it is better to have it and not need it then to need it and not have it! Also, make sure you return in one piece! If you don't come back who is going to help me play pranks on the Advisors!"

“I already promised, didn't I?" Myrra chuckles. The smile on her face was a bit strained as she looked at Avos. There was a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, and even though his eyes were wide and full of joy, and his shining white teeth gleamed in the sunlight as he grinned at her, she could see the pain flickering behind the mask. Avos' condition was no doubt acting up with him being so close to an airship that radiated so much arcane power.

“Captain! The ship is ready for takeoff!" Called one of her crew, waving at her from over the railing of the ship's deck. Good thing too, the sooner she could leave the sooner Avos no longer had to remain on the docks.

“I'll be right there, Kaster!" Myrra shouted back, waving to the scrawny elf.

She turns back to her friends and family, “Well, looks like I've got to go. I'll be back in little over a week at most. I promise, I will find out what is going on and fix it."

The queen nods, “I know you will. Be safe."

And with those final words of parting, Myrra turned on her heel and headed off towards her ship.

“Bye Myrra~! Bring me back a souvenir!" Avos called, waving at her retreating form. She threw up a hand without looking back, waving as she stepped onto the lift that would take her up onto the deck.

Once aboard, she stands at the helm, back straight and hands clasped behind her back. She radiated an aura of authority, power, and balance. Her very presence was like an energy boost for the crew, most likely because she radiated godly arcana. Perks of being a Symbol Bearer.

The crew looked up at her with eyes full of devotion and fire, every single one of them handpicked by her to serve as the best possible sailors for dangerous missions such as this one. They awaited her orders, and she was not about to keep them that way.

Myrra takes a deep breath, and then, “Release the tethers! Angle the fins for a 90 degree takeoff, keep power flow at a minimum; I want our rise to be slow and gradual!"

Her crew instantly snapped to it, scampering around to follow her orders. Several people began to release tethers while a group went below deck to angle the fins and restrict the flow of arcana to the engines. Soon enough, the last tether is released, and slowly, the ship begins to rise into the sky.

“Mind the wind speed and adjust accordingly! Watch the bow and stern; make sure we do not hit any trees on the way up!" Myrra called, watching as the crew worked like a well-oiled machine.

When they finally rose above the treetops, the keel clearing the blueish-green forest canopy, the helmswomen turned the ship towards the Great Plains and Dexan's capital city of Idota.

Myrra donned her goggles as the massive propellers in the rear begin to rotate, accelerating the ship towards their destination. She will figure out what the King of Dexan is planning, she will stop this war, and she will set the scales of justice back into balance. May the gods have mercy on those who stand in her way, because she most certainly will not.

***

Win, win, win! That is all he could think as his claws rake the man's arms, rending deep gashes into his flesh. Win, win, win! He lunges at the man again, swiping towards his face with his already blood-soaked claws. The man's hands come up again to try and protect himself. Several fingers go flying off, leaving behind bloody stumps and white bone.

He sees the man's lips move, hears some semblance of words uttered, smells the salty tears that leak down his face and the coppery scent of blood. He tries to ignore it, to push the thoughts running through his head out of his mind. This human didn't matter, nothing matters but winning!

The man staggers to his feet, making a mad dash across the sand towards one of the closed gates. He doesn't pursue, just stands there, and waits, letting the crowd get riled up. He has to put on a good performance! He has to be good! No… No, not good. Better! He has to be better!

The human gets ten paces from the gate, his bleeding arm flailing limply at his side as he runs.

Not yet. Nine paces now. Not Yet. Eight. Just a little more. Seven. Wait, Aster, Wait! Six. Be good! Be good! Five. Just a little longer, let the crowds get wild! Four. Don't disappoint, wait till the right time! Three. Almost… Two. Almost…! One. Now!

He dashes forward at a blinding speed, sand kicking up behind him as he sprints towards his prey. The world seems to slow, the cheering of the crowd grows muffled, his vision tunnels, focusing solely on the human.

I'm sorry, he thinks, his legs burning with exertion, heart pounding in his chest, his fur matted with sweat and blood. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

His hand reaches forward, as if it had a mind of its own, his claws dripping with red ichor. The man's head turns, looking over his shoulder at the beast that was upon him. Fear filled his eyes, fear and desperation. He did not want to die, just like all the others. None of them wanted to die.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! The mantra repeats itself in Aster's mind, over and over and over. He closes in faster than one might think possible, sprinting towards the human at blinding speeds. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Then, he was on top of the man.

“I'm sorry," Aster whispers, watching as the man's eyes grow wide upon hearing him. His hand meets cloth, then skin, then flesh and bone… then nothing. Blood trickles from the corner of the man's lips, the light in his eyes quickly fading and leaving behind glassy orbs. There was no ear-piercing scream, no gurgle of death. Just the soft escape of air as the man breathed his last.

Aster wrenches his hand back and stands there breathing heavily, the body of the man he had just killed falling to the ground. Blood oozes out of the corpse, pooling around it and staining the sand a deep red.

His heart was racing, beating in his chest like a drum. Unlike the one he held in his hand. Aster let the heart tumble from his grip, the organ landing right back into the fist-sized hole he had made in the man's back.

His bushy orange tail hangs limp, the white tip dragging against the ground and getting stained with blood. That would be a pain to get out.

His legs hurt, and so does the rest of his body. Overexertion tends to do that. He has been fighting all day, his last opponent actually able to land several hits on him. If they would give the prisoners weapons, then they might actually stand a chance, but no. This was all just for entertainment; they gave the criminals hope that they could go free if they could beat him, though they failed to inform them that he was a Chimera.

He looks up towards the stands, people, humans mostly, jumping up and down in their seats and screaming incomprehensible things. His sharp yellow eyes, however, were looking for only one thing. The King.

There he was, sitting on a regal throne in the royal box, shaded by a canopy of fine cloth and surrounded by other nobles, tables of food and drink resting nearby for their pleasure.

Aster met the King's gaze, and immediately regretted it. He tore his eyes away, looking back to the body of the criminal he had just slaughtered. The smirk upon the King's lips, the horrible brown eyes that sparkled with untold horrors and the glint of wanton greed. It all sent a shiver down his spine that was all too unpleasant, making memories of just last night resurface. He pushed them back down as fast as possible, suppressing them behind a locked door in his mind. He didn't want to think about those things right now.

The gates before him suddenly started to open, the iron bars rising as a small group of soldiers marched in. They wore metal chest plates as well as bracers on their arms and legs. Some wielded pistols, others rifles, and still some just held swords or spears.

He backed away from the corpse, returning to the center of the arena and allowing the guards to drag the body away. It's is not as if he was going to cause trouble, shackles are wrapped around his ankles, the chain connecting them just long enough to allow for a fair bit of movement. There also wasn't anywhere for him to go even if he did escape. The city would be swarming with guards within moments, all of whom knew its layout far better than he, and once he was captured again, he would receive such a severe punishment that… Well, he would be wishing he were dead afterwards.

Once the guards had left with the body, another gate to Aster's right started to open up, two Chimeras stepping out into the arena. They were both wolves, far taller than he was and identical in every aspect except gender. One was female, the other male. Twins, rare for Chimera's to have twins but not impossible.

Just like him, they looked relatively human, except for the pair of wolf-like ears on their head and the long, bushy grey tails swaying behind them. Their forearms were covered in fur up to their elbows, like long fluffy gloves, sharp claws tipping each finger in place of fingernails. From the knee down, their legs were beast-like, covered in fur with a slanted heel, claws adorning each of their four toes.

Aster looked similar to them, except he was a fox not a wolf. His stature was much shorter, fur a burnt orange, tail a bit bushier with a white tip, and ears larger and more pointed with a few white whiskers adorning his cheeks.

The wolf twins look at him impassively; their bodies thin and gaunt like his own. They must have been starved before being sent out here. Were they actually criminals, or were they just slaves who had made a mistake and angered their master, or perhaps innocents captured on the road and sent to the arena to die simply because they were of a different species?

He didn't know, nor did it matter in the end. Only one person was leaving this place alive, and even if they managed to kill him, they would most likely be forced to fight each other.

Two wolves versus one fox, this fight was going to be difficult. He couldn't just be animalistic anymore, like he has been with the previous ones, he will have to think, adapt, and actually fight rather than slaughter.

The crowd must felt the sudden shift, realized that this fight was different to all the others. The raucous cheering and screaming had now faded to waves of murmuring as the energy built. He takes a step to the right, the two wolves taking a step to the left, and they begin to circle each other.

I must win, he thinks, narrowing his yellow eyes at his two opponents. I can not afford to lose! I must win!

“I'm sorry," Aster says, voice barely more than a whisper. He knew they would be able to hear him, most Chimera possessed impeccable hearing.

“We are too," they both respond. And then it started.

***

Aster stands over two corpses, breathing labored and body racked with pain and bleeding profusely. His forearms have been cut open, the fur matted by even more blood. There's a large gash in his cheek from where one of the twins had clawed him, and his back was a patch work of lacerations. He'd be covered in bruises by the morrow, especially on his chest were the brother had managed to land several strikes.

The taste of metal fills his mouth, blood rushing to his ears and drowning out the thunderous cheering of the crowd, the scent of sweat and blood filling his overly sensitive nose. A sharp pain spikes through his side, making him gasp and clutch at the spot. One of his ribs must be broken or fractured, perhaps more. He hadn't sustained such severe injuries like these in a long time.

It was clear he was out of practice when it came to fighting a deadly opponent if these two Chimera were able to injury him so badly. It had been a long time since he was given a challenge like this, most of his fights consisting of nothing more than slaughtering convicted criminals… And sometimes innocent civilians.

Suddenly his vision goes blurry, the world starting to spin, his knees shaking as his legs attempt to hold him up with exhausted muscles. The adrenaline starts to fade, the pain his injuries cause becoming worse by the second.

No… No, not yet. I can still keep fighting! I can still win! I… I don't want to lose! I don't want to be punished! It is too late. His knees buckle, sending him to the ground, sand getting pushed into his wounds and making them sting and throb even more.

He can hear the clanking of armor, feel the vibrations of footsteps through the earth, see the glint of the sun as it bounces off the metal breastplates of guards as they march into the arena. His vision begins to fade, slowly growing darker, and darker, until… nothing.

***

He heard the smack before he felt the pain, the sting of a hand coming down on his rear making him flinch. The faceless person behind him grabbed his tail and pulled it roughly, tearing out bits of fur as they used the leverage to ram themselves deeper.

He couldn't stop the tears flowing down his cheeks, nor the sounds of pain and sometimes pleasure that slipped past his lips. It hurt, it always hurt, and the shame he felt for getting aroused and sometimes feeling good from it, no matter how much he didn't want it, was too much to bear.

He buried his face into the sheets, trying to muffle the sounds he made and block out the musky odor of sex and exertion that assaulted his sense of smell. His fox like ears folded back against his head in an attempt to silence the lewd noises. It didn't work.

“You're such a good boy, Aster! So very good!" They cackle, leaning down on top of him to drive themselves deeper.

He yips as the person puts more force onto him, but he doesn't care, he was being called good! He was a good boy! Master had called him a good boy! The words were fake, hollow, and meaningless in every possible way. He knew that, but the slight warmth he felt in his stomach when he received praise was the only thing keeping him sane.

“You are feeling good from this too, right?" They sneer, yanking his tail hard on the last word.

Why! Why did they have to ask that! Of course he wasn't feeling good! He didn't want this, it hurts! But he has to be a good boy, he has to be good and answer.

“Y-Yes, Master! I… I love it, p-please, keep going, use your slave as you see fit!" He groans out, filling his voice with fake pleasure and want. It was a lie, but with how gullible this person was, it was a convincing one. He needed to be a good slave, a better slave, a _perfec_t slave!

“That's what I like to hear," they grunt, picking up their pace.

Aster let his face burry itself back into the bed, trying to turn his pained whimpers into deceptive moans. He had to please them, if only for a little longer, he knew they were close. They would finish inside him, like they always did, it would be disgusting and hard to clean out, but he would be good and not complain. At least once this was over he would be safe, until the next night that is.

Soon enough, just as he expected, it was over, his body panting and exhausted, covered in bodily fluids that weren't his own, the smell of semen and sweat filling his nostrils.

Now came the part Aster considered the worst. The King, for that was who it was who had been using his body, cuddled him and spoke sweet words that held no meaning. Aster could hear the fakeness in his words, the complete lack of care or emotions the King held. It was only a process to make Aster more loyal to him, to hurt him then 'love' him, to make him dependent on what little affection and approval he could garner from his master.

As much as he hated to admit it, it worked. The words, though fake, blossomed barely flickering flames in his chest. He had been good! And being good meant good things happened! Like getting food, or candles, and on some occasions, more blankets!

It would all be okay in the end, once his master falls asleep, he will crawl out of the bed, clean himself, then curl up and cry to let out all of the emotions. Once done, he will cover the bruises and marks with makeup, dress nicely, and make himself look perfect.

He had to be perfect for his master, flawless both on the battlefield and in the bedchamber. Once the King awoke, since Aster had been such a good boy, he will hopefully be feed. Most likely after a morning romp, but he could be a good boy and deal with that if it meant getting a bit of food and being left alone for the rest of the day.

Yes, it would be ok! Everything… Everything would be alright. He just has to… has to… be good, be good and then maybe master will truly value him!

Then the dam broke, silent sobs racking his body as the smell of sex was drowned out by the scent of salt, tears rolling down his cheeks like a waterfall. He made no noise lest he wake the King, the only notion he was crying being the light shuddering of his shoulders.

Nothing was alright… None of this would be ok! He would be stuck like this for the rest of his life, forced to slaughter those deemed criminals, half of whom were nothing more than innocents pulled off the streets! His nights spent being the sex toy for the King and anyone else he wished to share his slave with! It wasn't fair! He hated it, hated all of it! He just wished he could fall asleep and never wake up!

Every single day of his life, ever since he was born as the illegitimate child of a noble… has been nothing but misery!

***

Aster awakes slowly, much to his surprise, blinking his yellow eyes open and letting them adjust to the darkness. After a dream, or rather memory, like that, he usually would have woken up screaming and drenched in sweat. Had they drugged him? Probably, he was not trusted enough to even be in his cell without being pumped full of calming-draught. That would also explain why his head felt so sluggish and fuzzy.

Looking around, he finds he's back in his cell, deep beneath the palace near the dungeons, though thankfully he wasn't in the dungeons directly. He laid on a small pile of blankets, his body sore and aching but not in as much pain as he expected to be. Looking down, he found himself bare save for a pair of shorts, his body completely healed of all injuries asides some severe bruising along his front.

Had they used arcana on him? With a sniff to the air, his suspicions were confirmed when he smelled the faint, heady scent of residual arcana. It sent a shiver down his spine, the simple smell of leftover power bringing a slight bit of strength back to him.

They hardly ever healed him using arcane power unless he was on the verge of death, which only happened one time. The injuries he had sustained were not life threatening, at least he didn't think they were, and yet here he was, completely healed with nothing more than a few sore muscles and a bit of black and blue skin. There was a catch hidden here somewhere, he just didn't know what it was yet. They would not be so willing to expose him to the very thing they had spent so much time cutting him off from.

Suddenly, the smell of food slammed into him like a hammer against an anvil, making him quickly sit up and look towards the heavy wooden door on the other side of the room, his thoughts on the previous subject quickly forgotten. His ears perked up high, listening as a set of footsteps approached. In fact, there were multiple sets of footsteps, five if his hearing was correct, which it usually was. There were five distinct scents as well, though with the faint aroma of arcana still floating about and blinding one of his senses, it was too difficult to tell them apart.

They stopped right outside his door, and then the sound of a key being inserted into a lock reached him. The mechanism inside the door started to whirr and whine as gears turned, heavy clunks coming one after the other as metal bars retreated from the wall to allow the door to swing open.

He was surprised to see an elf stumble into the room with a platter of food in her hands and a lantern dangling from the crook of her elbow. The contents of the tray looked and smelled far too delicious for it to be for him without some sort of payment being involved.

Just like him, there were shackles wrapped around her ankles, the chains just long enough to allow her to move around without being impeded. However, unlike himself, she also had a metal collar clamped around her throat, symbolizing she was far more valued than he. She looked healthy, dressed in a simple black and white uniform, her golden hair tied back behind her in a bun.

She stepped further into the room, three guards dressed in rather fancy looking armor and wielding swords and pistols following closely behind. Then, the man from his dreams stepped through the doorway, dressed in regal attire befitting a king, a large golden crown adorning his head.

Aster instantly threw himself to the ground in front of his master, his knees banging against the hard stone floor and sending pain flaring up his legs. He just grit his teeth and bore it, a little bit of pain was a better price to pay then a punishment from the King.

The results of yesterday suddenly flood his mind. He had passed out after defeating those two Chimera! He had went and fucking fell asleep without his master's permission! He was an idiot! A foolish, worthless slave that no one cared about! The fact he was still alive only meant that the King had a special punishment in store for him. Perhaps if he begs enough for mercy, or pleads to service his master and offer himself to him willingly rather than being forced to his bedchambers and drugged, that he might be lenient and spare him from punishment, or at least make it not so severe.

Before he could even open his mouth to begin begging however, the King spoke, “Save your pitiful apologies and pointless pleading, slave! I am not here to punish you today, even if you deserve it for your horrible performance."

His mind was blank for a moment, not fully comprehending the King's words until, Lies! He's lying! There will be punishment, just not now!

Almost instantly, he starts to internally berate himself for thinking such fowl thoughts of his master. He didn't voice his thoughts of course, the King didn't need to know the internal struggle going on inside him. One side wanted to be good, to tell his master and receive the punishment he was undoubtedly deserving of. The other side, however, the side that feared the King and didn't want to rouse his anger, won out in the end, beating the other into submission.

He glances up towards the King, the clear confusion in his eyes obviously apparent because the King continues without waiting for a response.

“An elven diplomat is arriving tomorrow to discuss a trade deal, one of the royal family in fact," he begins to explain a sneer coming to his face. “As such, we will afford her the utmost curtesy. You will be feed, bathed, and clothed so you may look presentable, then tomorrow morning; you will entertain our guest in the arena. Am I understood?"

Ah, there is the catch. He was healed and being fed because he had to entertain a very important guest. Well, that was alright, he could be entertaining. Fighting and sex were the only things he was good at, no doubt the King will also offer him up to this diplomat to use for their pleasure. He was pretty, even he knew that, and also incapable of getting pregnant, the perfect pleasure slave.

Aster bows his head, pressing his brow to the cold, stone floor, “Yes Master, I understand. I will do my best to not disappoint you."

“See that you do, beast," King Ortho replied, looking down at his slave with disgust, “I will not have my plans ruined by one of your many mess ups!"

He then turned to the elf who stood to the side, still holding the tray with her head bowed. “Feed him, bath him, and dress him, I want everything to be perfect for tomorrow!"

“As you wish Master," the elf replied softly, bowing her head a little deeper. He huffed before turning on his heel and marching out with his guards.

As soon as the King and his men left, the door shutting behind them, the elf walked over to Aster and set the tray of food down in front of him. He sat back on his knees, staring at the platter as the smell wafted up into his nose.

It smelled so good! Freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and diced fruit! Whoever this diplomat was, they had just earned him a meal that he will probably never receive again. He will have to thank them properly tomorrow, most likely after diner, during the nighttime hours when they will no doubt want his services.

“Eat, Aster, tomorrow is going to be difficult for you," the elf spoke, kneeling down next to him on the hard floor. Sheon was her name, the only person he could possibly call a friend. She took care of him after particularly devastating fights, always the one to heal his injuries. If he had been good enough, then she was the one who would bring him food. If he needed to be bathed, she was the one to do it. The King did not trust him to do anything by himself, which was obvious with how he could still hear two of his guards standing right outside the door. As well as how he was drugged to the point of being unable to lift the fog clouding his mind.

He looks up into her golden eyes, the elf easily a head taller than him.

“Why will tomorrow be difficult? Will it not just be more of the same?" Aster enquires voice slightly hoarse. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to focus more as his body swayed a little from side to side. What had they drugged him with? This didn't feel like a normal calming-draught.

She just sighs and picks up the loaf of bread and tears off a chunk. She brings it to his face and he opens his mouth obediently. He wasn't even allowed to eat on his own, that was why Sheon had stayed behind, to do everything for him. It wasn't because he was valued or trusted, it was quite the opposite in fact. The many times he has tried to end his own life, either by refusing to eat in an attempt to starve himself, or by holding himself underwater so he could drown.

The easiest way out would be to slit his own wrists with his claws, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. And for some reason, the King refused to let him die. So, his freedom to feed himself was stripped away, any food given would be fed to him to make sure he ate, his ability to wash himself was gone, forced to stand still while another slave used a sponge and bucket of water.

He spent most of his time in the arena, or in his cell. Fights were the only time he had outside, other than that, he was constantly surrounded by stone walls or palace wallpaper. Especially the last one when the King called for his services.

Sheon refused to answer why tomorrow was going to be difficult for him, continuing to feed him small bites of food. It tasted heavenly but strange, most likely because he hadn't eaten solid food in a very long time. He was not afforded these kinds of luxuries, like the many slaves that worked in the palace, nor would he ever be.

He didn't see what the big deal was. Sure, some elf from the royal family was coming to discuss a trade deal and he had to entertain them, so what? All he has to do is go out into the arena tomorrow, kill a few criminals, and then possibly entertain the diplomat in bed. It didn't sound like anything different from how his life usually went.

Soon, the food was gone, the hunger pains he had been experience for the past few days disappearing. He had hoped that after eating, the fog clouding his mind would clear. It did not, if anything, it feels like its thicker now, harder to think for himself.

Sheon picked up the platter and stood, walking to the door and knocking on it. There was the sound of a key turning in a lock, the grinding of gears emanating from beneath the wood as the mechanism activated and unlocked the door. She left without a word, returning soon after with a bucket and a sponge.

It wasn't long before he was left alone again, Sheon leaving to gather clothing and other things the King demanded he wear for tomorrow. At least he was clean now, the blood in his fur gone, the sweat wiped clean from his skin, his long, rust brown hair combed and done up in a single braid that fell to his lower back. He still didn't understand why the King wanted to show him of all people off, he wasn't even collared, which just showed how undervalued he truly was. It confused him to no end, all his previous masters never wished to collar him… Was he truly so unruly that he was not worthy of a collar?

Yes… Yes he was. Most of the time he had to be forced to the bedchambers of the King or whatever noble the man had lent him out too. Then he had to be drugged and sometimes chained up to be more controllable and to keep him from hurting anyone. Then there was his connection, they had somehow managed to cut it off, leaving him feeling empty and hollow, a shell they could manipulate as they see fit. Then there was his occasional refusal to kill someone in the arena.

In recent months, Aster has come to find out that many of his opponents were no longer criminals as they once used to be. Yes, there were still criminals sentenced to trial by combat in which they would fight him, but many of the people brought in were civilians, people who had upset some noble or another, or travelers that no one would miss.

It… hurt him. He knew these people were innocent, yet there was nothing he could do, and in the end, they would all die. He yearned to save them, to help them out of their predicament, but he was powerless. He either killed them and made it as painless as possible, or refuse and be punished. The person would die either way; one just happened to be less painful while the other would land him in a world of pain.

He was so distracted in thought that he didn't even notice, let alone hear, the door open and Sheon step back in with an armful of clothes. He was just standing in the middle of the room, right where she had left him, stark naked from being bathed.

“Which one would you rather wear?" Sheon asked, shaking Aster back to reality.

He looked at her, then to the two outfits she held up on hangers. The first outfit was a pair of shorts that seemed a little too small to be able to fit him comfortably, and a small vest that wouldn't even cover his entire torso. As well as a pair of… interesting looking undergarments that could hardly be considered undergarments.

The second outfit was different. Pants that would not doubt be rather tight on him, and a strange shirt made of black lace and patterned with flowers. The undergarments were… exactly the same as the previous ones. Lacey, like the shirt, though the color was a deep maroon. He couldn't help but let his eyes linger on the second outfit for a bit, but he soon tore his eyes away and cast his gaze to the floor.

“Whatever you think is best," Aster whispers. Both outfits were clearly made to be revealing, as if to advertise his physique. The King probably wanted to show off how pretty he could be to tempt the diplomat to use him. It might make them more open to the King's demands, and if it did not, the only thing the King would lose would be a single night with his slave.

“Hmm," hummed Sheon as she thought, “I think this one will look best on you." She holds the second outfit up to Aster's body, looking it up and down to try and get an idea of how he would fair in such an outfit.

Relief filled him when she said that. He would never voice his opinion, doing so would earn him punishment, but he could not deny that he preferred the second over the first. While it would accentuate his form, it was much more concealing then the other one.

“I'll be back in the morning to help you get ready," Sheon said, moving over to the door. She was about to knock to get the guards to let her out, but she paused, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Aster," she began hesitantly. He looked up to her, meeting her gaze. “I've seen the lineup of opponents for tomorrow," she continued, her eyes tearing away from his and drifting about, reluctance written all over her face. “You're not going to like it… So just… Just promise me you won't get yourself killed, alright?"

“What do you mean?" He asks curiously, head tilting to the side. She didn't answer for a moment, eyes staring at the floor as she debated whether she should say anything or not.

“You'll see tomorrow," is all she answered. Then there was a knock, the whirr of gears, and then she was gone. Aster was so confused that even though it had taken several seconds for Sheon to leave, it felt like she had been out the door instantly.

He'll see tomorrow? What did that mean? Was there a lineup of strong opponents? Was the King doing something different because this diplomat was coming? Well, there was no use in thinking about it now. His fate was sealed and he might as well take Sheon's advice and get some sleep. Though with how dark it was in here, he wasn't sure if that would be possible.

He was scared of the dark, terrified actually. Yet for some reason when Sheon left and took the only light source with her, he felt nothing as the darkness closed in. His race usually had an affinity for the night and the lack of light it brought, able to see far better in the dark then most other living beings. Yet because his connection had been cut, he no longer possessed the natural abilities his god had bestowed upon his kind.

Aster padded over to the pile of blankets in the corner and laid down, curling up in his little nest and pulling one of the wool coverings over himself. He felt like he should be more concerned with what was going on, scared even, but whatever drug they had administered to him was clouding his mind. It dulled his emotions, fogged his judgement, made him feel numb and empty. Perhaps it was the reason he didn't feel afraid of the dark.

Regardless as to the reason behind it, it would help him sleep. Hopefully without dreams. His eyes became heavy, lids drooping shut, all the energy in his body leaving him. There was no noise to distract him, not this far beneath the surface, no smells other than cold stone and his own musk, and… a faint hint of nature, like wet dirt and crushed leaves. No doubt left behind by Sheon's presence. It was comforting, and with that comfort held close to his heart, Aster drifted off into darkness.