FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chiaria sighed lightly, lightly brushing a hand along the decorated mantle of the grand old fireplace in the sitting room of the Genvi estate. It was a beautiful piece, hand-made by gifted artisans, most likely several decades before she had been born - even though that wouldn't necessarily be a lot, given that she was only fifteen years old, but still. It seemed like forever ago to her.

Chiaria was a small Ashnavar, a creature that looked something like a mix between a human and a fox. She had long, smooth and clean red fur, which melded into a white on her stomach, chest, and the underside of her fox-like snout, whereas it was black on her paws. She also had a long brown mane, that which, if it were on a human, would simply be referred to as "hair". It curled down her back, and also sometimes drifted in front of her face, covering her bright green eyes.

She quickly snatched her hand back, remembering that the master didn't appreciate any of his slaves touching the family's possessions, and she guessed that this artistic expression of grandeur would count as a possession. She returned to her spot, near the front door of the house, one of the four doors leading out of the room, and stood with her head down.

She was, in fact, a slave of the Genvi family, or at least the Genvi "patron", who was currently the only member of the family that was still alive - Traynor Genvi, the sixteen-year old noble that owned her and all of the other slaves on the premises. She did not carry any obvious markings of slavery like those in the fields, since she was a house servant and needed to look as good as possible to any visitors, but given the finery of the clothing which she wore - a long black lace dress, decorated with the insignia of the Genvi family, with ruffled cuffs and such - told others that she could be nothing else but a slave. As far as Chiaria knew, there was absolutely no non-human, apart from the Elden, Kazura, Hin, and Gnomes, which looked enough like humans to earn respect in their society, in the empire that wore anything this and was not a slave. All of the non-human creatures besides those previously mentioned were either tribals, eking out a living that was not a living in the many woods and mountains of the world, or slaves to the equally numerous noble families, two a kau'tra in these areas, of the Kitichan Empire.

There was a loud rapping on the door, and Chiaria hurriedly turned and opened the door, swiftly adopting a submissive expression as her master, the young Traynor, paraded through the heavy oaken doors, followed by four others - two male Phelgons, that looked quite like humanoid wolves, dressed in dark olive-green loincloths, both of them looking exactly the same, with black fur, brown paws, and yellow-orange eyes. No, not exactly the same - one had a brown-furred right ear; the other one had a left ear of such colouration. Still, it was obvious they were related - twin brothers, most likely. Then there was a tall, slender figure completely covered by black robes, the tip of a muzzle poking out covered by what appeared to be a piece of grey ceramic. The fourth, of course, was Traynor's personal slaver, a rather large, scarred man, seeming to lack any hair or fur whatsoever - which made him look even stranger, to Chiaria. Even Traynor had some fur, but this man had none, not even above his eyes. The man scared her terribly, especially when he carried his whip in his hand like he did now, resembling some horrific, hairless daemon from the pits of hell.

She waited patiently as the troupe passed through, then closed the door and returned to her post, turning to see, to her surprise, that Traynor and the others had halted in the middle of the sitting room, spreading out. Her master turned to her, speaking up.

"Chiaria, if you would go and fetch all of the others, it would be greatly appreciated. I have something to announce to the lot of you, do you understand?"

"Y-yes, master. I will return shortly..."

"Oh, and don't forget about the field workers!"

"Of course, master."

She quickly gathered the others from around the house and outside of it - there were numerous slaves on the property, only a few of them her personal friends, but she still had to associate with them regularly.

First, she found Neyin, the family's cook, a small, rotund Volenk, who quite resembled a tiger, with orange fur shot through with stripes of black and a belly of white. She was complaining to herself about the quality of the ingredients when Chiaria hurried into the kitchen, telling her about Traynor's wish to make an announcement. Neyin, stilled dressed in her kitchen apron, hustled herself to the sitting room, realising that to make the master of the house wait would be a bad idea.

Next, she went to fetch Des'kava, Traynor's personal slave, who always seemed far too naïve to be realistic. She, a Phelgon-Ashnavar hybrid that indeed looked like a cross between a wolf, fox, and human, was, according to the rumours around the mansion, treated as a pet, with all of the luxuries that the others lacked. She was taller by a head than Chiaria and Neyin, and had a great excess of curves - wide, shapely hips, a slim waist, a soft rear, and large, firm breasts. She had long, silky brown fur, with tan fur on her tail, belly, ears, and paws. She also possessed a long black mane and blue eyes that complemented her other colours rather well. She currently wore a cream-and-black robe with the Genvi family crest stitched onto the shoulders. She also hurried out as she heard of the master's wish to speak.

Then she went off to find Toryc, the only other full Ashnavar on the estate. She found him busily dusting off several of the trophies in one of the more impressive rooms of the mansion, filled with generations' worth of artifacts, relics, and trophies of all kinds. Toryc was taller than Des'kava, and had pure white fur, and bright blue eyes. Chiaria considered him to be rather nice, although he was always so shy and quiet around her. He wore black breeches and a waistcoat, with half-shoes on the lower portion of his legs, though his paws, as always, stuck out of the front. He just nodded and swiftly finished his work before walking smoothly towards the sitting room when she told him of the news.

Then she had to go and fetch the two workers that were outside in the fields - Shaga and Cesava. Shaga was a massive Dalynther, almost like a humanoid dragon, standing at over seven feet and well suited to exterior work - he had dark grey scales, with a black mane of hair and dull green eyes that showed no sign of intelligence. Cesava, on the other hand, was a Drakonid - almost like a Dalynther, but lacking in wings, but with tails that were usually as long as themselves. She had bright azure scales, with a wild shock of orange hair and matching eyes. As was usual, Cesava was ranting about the unfairness of life, the empire, and Traynor, while Shaga simply worked, not seeming to understand any of what she was talking about. They both trudged inside after Chiaria explained the situation a few times, Shaga seeming to simply follow Cesava rather than go in order to hear Traynor's words.

Chiaria herself quickly returned, noting that by now all of the others had gathered, and Traynor had seated himself comfortably, tall black boots propped up on the table. Inwardly, she groaned, realising that she would almost certainly have to clean that afterwards.

As he realised that all of his slaves were present, Traynor began to speak, rather calmly.

"As I'm sure you know, the slave quarters here on the estate are already crowded as it is." After he got a few cautious nods, he continued. "And, of course, I got a deal I simply could not deal on these three - I figured that I should buy you all a few more friends, and they seem quite well trained! As such, I believe there will be no more room in the current quarters, so I am giving you all leave to, at least until a new building is completed, sleep in the mansion. I do not, however, expect you to cause a mess. Is that clear?"

He waited until he got acknowledgement from each of the slaves before he nodded once. "Very well, then. Dismissed. Back to your jobs, all of you. Ah! And Chiaria, if you would show these three about, it would be welcome. The one there," he indicated one of the loincloth-clad males, with the right brown ear, "is going into physical labour. That one, there," he motioned to the other one, with the brown-furred left ear, "is going to be a house servant, and will work alongside you. And that one... mm, he will be... entertainment." He chuckled as he nodded at the black-robed creature.

She nodded quickly and motioned for the three to follow, adopting her best instructor's voice for her master's benefit, explaining the rules of the house. Once they were out of Traynor's earshot, she dropped the fancy tone and began simply talking to them.

"So who are all of you, anyway?" She asked of them curiously.

"Well," began the house servant, "That there is Makaz." He motioned to his brother.

"And he is Zakam!" Finished the labourer.

"Uh... Right, I see." She coughed lightly, looking between the two. "Well, we should probably get you two some better clothing so you're not so, uh... indecent?" She hemmed nervously, and then turned to the final figure, ignoring the brothers' crude remarks about said 'indecency'.

"And what of you, then? Who are you?"

"Kyarn," came the raspy reply. It was flat, and toneless - if Traynor hadn't called this one a 'he', she doubted she would've been able to figure out the gender. There was still a faint air of menace around the dark-robed figure. "That is all you need to know."

"I--yes. Right. Okay, I get the message." She quickly hurried down the hall, leading them to the room where the slaves' clothing was kept.

The room was rather small, in comparison with the grander, public rooms of the manse. Most of the space in the room was occupied by dressers, shelves, crates, barrels, and other containers - it was a general-purpose storage room.

"Uhm... Which one of you is which again? I mean, what will you all be doing? You're a house servant, you're a field worker, and you're... uhm, entertainment, did he say?" As she asked the last words, she looked towards Kyarn.

"I am what I am, and more besides," came the cryptic answer from the hooded figure.

"Y'see?" Asked Makaz dryly. "Ask someone in a mask a question, and they'll give you the most ridiculous answer they can come up with."

"Of course, they want to make themselves seem even more mysterious than they really are," Zakam replied lightly. Meanwhile, Kyarn glowered at them, evidently irritated by the joke - and, of course, finding it nowhere near as amusing as they did.

"Which isn't much, naturally. That's why they need the mask in the first place!" Makaz beamed.

"Oh, just shut up..." Kyarn glared at the two.

"Uhm... You should all take the clothing I've, uhm, laid out for you here..." Chiaria tried to interrupt before the situation could turn ugly.

"Yeah, good idea! Which one's mine?" Asked one of the brothers - she thought it was Makaz, but couldn't be certain by this point.

"Uhm... You're Makaz, right?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Okay, then you're the labourer. Your set is right there." She pointed to a pair of dark brown sack-cloth trousers and a rough white shirt.

"Guh, I'd rather just wear my loincloth..." He muttered.

"Yeah, but then you'd be indecent!" Zakam chimed in.

"Pff, yeah." He snorted. "I'll show you indecency, damn it..."

"Uhm, anyway, you, Zakam, get that." Chiaria motioned over towards a pair of black breeches, a white shirt, and a black coat. Zakam groaned loudly.

"Hey Makaz, you want to trade by any chance? I gotta take the fancy clothes..."

"Ha! Who's making jokes now?" His brother gloated.

"And, uh, Kyarn, I don't... know... what you should wear."

"I will wear my robes, and if you attempt to make me wear anything else I will be forced to burn your eyes from your skull." The voice was as toneless as ever, but the threat was obvious.

"So what's up with your voice, anyway, freak? And why do you wear all that?" Makaz looked towards Kyarn.

"I... inhaled too much smoke during a fire. This amulet speaks for me. It projects my thoughts. And I wear my robes to hide the scars from that fire. Not that I understand why you would be concerned that I wear more."

"...So if you're thinking of something dirty, it'll project that out? And fantasies? That's got to be awkward."

"..N-no! It, uh, only projects what I want it to. Don't question it! It's magic, damn your eyes!"

"Huh. You're really obsessed with threats towards our eyes, aren't you?"

Chiaria shook her head with a small smile, removing herself from the room and closing the door to allow them some privacy while they changed.

It had been less than a day, but she could tell this would be very interesting.