Godspark

It has been a week since the attack by the Volcans, the fiery birds spewed by Pyrrhus' volcano. Little rays of light penetrate the cloudy skies of Pyrrhus to illuminate the rough brick walls of the mansion, the busy shimmering of the maids as they work and the groans of men in training gives life to Grimstone.

Emilia, adorned in a hooded cloak against the prying eyes of her fellow slaves, moves with the stealth of a shadow. Her black dress trails behind her, a somber counterpoint to the single bottle of wine she carries on a tray. She averts her gaze, avoiding the hostile glares that follow her every step.

She walks with a wish to disappear, to turn to dust and wind and fly away from this harsh reality; an unanswered prayer. 

Jarred by an unexpected impact against her shoulder, she stumbles, the tray tilting precariously. With the grace of a dancer and the reflexes of a predator, she arrests the plummeting bottle mid-air, the tray itself clattering to the floor in a discordant symphony of steel.

"Better watch where you are going, alien" Emilia raises her head to look up at the owner of such words, Sasha, she isn't someone particularly close to Emilia but then no one is. 

She, like Emilia, is a property of Lord Barabas, a slave. She looks down on Emilia who tries to pick up the tray, "That bottle is filled with precious wine. Lord Barabas got it from Lord Ghassan after entertaining The Sunken Kingdom with the death of a great champion. I was his favourite back then," Sasha says as Emilia picks up the tray, "I will keep that in mind," Emilia says as she tries to avert Sasha's eyes. 

Her slender fingers rubs against Emilia's chin, she tilt's the elf's head so their eyes can meet. Sasha, being the taller of the two, looks from above. "You won't be his favourite forever," she says and walks away.

Emilia takes a deep breath as the pounding in her chest gradually calms down. She remembers her errand and rushes off. Emilia arrives the visiting chambers where Lord Barabas, resplendent in his colourful regalia, holds court, laughing and discussing with another man Emilia had never seen before. She drops the bottle on the table and opens it, pouring into both of their cups before standing aside.

Heavy oak furniture, intricately carved, dominates the room. Two massive armchairs which the men sit on, upholstered in crimson velvet, sagged under the weight of years and current days' ass. Beside them, a low stool groaned under the weight of a chessboard, half-finished game abandoned mid-play.

"You have a thing for politics, Barabas" the man across him says with a smug laugh, "No, I'd rather just stick to the glamorous disgust of sweat and blood that the arena provides, Dorian" "Well, to more important matters. As you know I am well known for my taste in exquisite things," Dorian says, his dark eyes stay focused on Barabas, "Slaves, I know" Barabas says while glancing over at a tall servant Dorian brought as company. The servant, much like Emilia, is covered in a hooded cloak.

"I have watched your stock these past few months and someone catches my eye," Dorian says, his eyes light up with his smile. The air thickens with the cloying scent of incense and unfamiliar perfumes. "She is not for sale Dorian," Barabas says plainly before sipping his wine.

 "She? Who said anything about a she?". The two men look at each other with squeezed brows, "Who have you seen?" Barabas asks, "A young gladiator. I've seen him fight in the pits a couple of times, I would like to purchase him". 

Barabas raises a brow, he thought Dorian was going to ask for someone else, someone more precious, "I can't sell him to you. The boy has potential that I intend to see till the end," "I will buy him twice the price you paid for him," "I'm not interested in selling my slave to you Dorian," "Silvered hair, blue eyes and a keen ability for combat. Barabas, you are squandering his potential. Do you even know what race he is?" "And you do?" "I do," Dorian thunders, his fist slamming against the polished oak, earning a glance from Barabas. 

Dorian fidgets with one of his rings while biting down on his lower lip, "Look Barabas, we have to come to some kind of agreement. I must have him," Dorian says.

 Barabas sits forward, "There are many others with silvered hair and blue eyes, you can find them" "They are not him, his kind is touched by the gods themselves. He must be a part of my collection," he says and moves his eyes to Emilia who stands still. 

"Please, I will give you more than money. Reputation," "I have reputation," "Not with the caliber of people that I have," "You have nothing to offer me Dorian,".

Dorian's servant bends down and whispers something to him, Dorian glances over at Emilia; "It would seem you have more than one treasure, Barabas" "The term is subjective,". 

With a dramatic flourish, Dorian gestures toward Emilia. A gust of wind, conjured at his whim, whips open her hood, exposing skin the colour of midnight and the telltale points of elven ears. "I will be damned", Dorian exclaims, springing to his feet. Eyes wide open.

His potbelly stands proud as the hairs on his white skin stand with him. He fixes gaze upon Barabas, who countenance betrays a simmering fury, "How dare you?", he roars, his voice a thunderclap.

 "You are sitting on a fortune here and what, one is your personal slave and the other a gladiator? I am trying to help you. Name your price for both of them," Dorian says. 

Barabas, his chest heaving up and down, sweeps the table clean with a single gesture, "You are not parting with any of my slaves" he roars, his voice thick with menace. "Leave!" "You dare send me out of your house?", the men raise their voices and the guards begin to show concern. 

Raven strides into the chamber with another Sith at her side, "Leave this moment Dorian, before I do something we will both regret" Barabas says and takes a step close to Dorian. Dorian, his knuckles white, glares upward, his face a mask of suppressed fury. Veins bulge in his temples, "Lord Dorian, I think it best that you leave," Raven says.

Dorian trailed by his servant, strides away, then abruptly halts. Turning back, he fixes Barabas with a chilling gaze, "I will return" he declares. And with that, vanishes from sight. 

"Fucking prick," Barabas curses and throws a cup against the wall, the bottle of wine which was once a gift now lays shattered on the floor with its content soaked into the grounds, "Get someone to clean this shit up, Emilia come with me" he says and leaves the room with the weight of an elephant under his feet as he stomps away.

Liquid touches his lips and pries them open, his sight welcomes the offers of daylight while his nose sneezes at the smells of oils and medicine. 

He jolts upright, his gaze meeting hers. A cascade of raven hair obscures her face, yet her scrutiny remains unwavering. Garments, threadbare and tattered, barely suffice to cloak her meaner frame. Her eyes fixed on his own, the piercing blue of a winter sky, plead for expression, but the words flee her lips.

"He is finally awake," a voice, warm and known says, "I come bearing gifts," Emmet declares while offering a crust of bread as he settles beside him. "I will fetch the healer," the woman says, her gauze lingering on the still form before she departs. 

Emmet catches Kane's eyes on her backside, "Come on man, you just woke up" "How long have I been out?" "A week. I mean, you've been up a few times but not like this. Tell me Kane, what happened? You were saving your crush Raven and next thing I know you were gone then I see you bruised up bad. Did she do this to you?" Emmet asks. 

Kane's mind wanders, he knows who did this and so far he has not met anyone at his level. He looks at his hand and folds it into a fist, "I was too weak," he grits his teeth, "What is it?" "I am weak Emmet," "Come on now, you haven't even been a year in the Ludus. Besides, you are doing better than most of us when we got here,". Kane bends his head, "I couldn't save anyone, not even myself. What I'm I the chosen one of?".