Chapter 16: Brand
"Once bonded, she'll obey all your commands." The Master chuckled darkly, "Even the thought of disobeying will activate the seal." With an expression of leeriness, the dragonkin allowed the Master to prick the tip of his thumb with the small knife. The blood was added to an alchemical formula.
Too weak to offer even a token resistance, the Master easily shoved Lesmythe's arms aside. Dipping a brush into the liquid he traced the outer edge of the slave crest. She knew all too well the pain of disobedience. The moment the circle was complete Lesmythe gasped. Smoke curled up to engulf her face as her flesh sizzled with magical energy.
"What's happening?" the dragonkin demanded.
"Not to worry," the Master said cheerfully, "The pain will dissipate soon."
Crying out, she fell to the floor clutching at her chest. Through the haze of agony, she saw the Dragonkin look on dispassionately. Only the burning of her skin kept her from expressing her misery.
Slowly the pain allayed. It would eventually fade, but the seal always served as a reminder that the agony was never far away. Still gasping for breath Lesmythe managed to sit up.
"She's all yours, my friend," declared her former Master.
Her new Master hefted a leather purse. "Thirty silvers, yes?" The coins hit the counter with a dull clatter of metal. So that's all her life was worth? Thirty pieces of silver? It wasn't enough she was a slave. Lesmythe was a worthless slave by the master's estimate. Somehow that hurt worse than the brand.
"There's two extra here, sir."
The dragonkin didn't bother to look at him. He continued to stare down at his acquisition. Probably wondering if she was even worth half the price. "That's your commission," he growled, "You were going to wring it out of me anyway, right?"
The slaver laughed heartily. "You have a real head for this business."
Lesmythe was still recovering from the application when she felt her new master lean over her. "Now then, I guess I'm supposed to know your name." She tried to speak but the seal had brought about a fresh wave of coughing that threatened to make her vomit. "Well?" he said a bit more sharply, "Tell me your name." The half-elf flinched in anticipation of the seal's activation. "I said what's your name."
She sat up unable to look the beast in the eye. "I'm called... Lesmythe."
"Lesmythe huh?" He said her name slowly, doing his best to pronounce it properly. Sighing in exasperation he reached down and grasped her by the forearm. She whimpered as the dragonkin hauled her up and dragged her bodily towards the door. "Let's go." Behind them, the slaver advised that dragonkin to come back anytime and that they were always open. Lesmythe couldn't help but speculate if dying in her cage was preferable to dying at the hands of the dragonkin.
Lesmythe's new master didn't slow until they were several blocks away from the slave market. The night lay heavy and the moon bright. Its radiance stung her eyes. When she attempted to rub them, the dragonkin let go of her arm. Once her vision cleared, she got her first true glimpse of her owner. He towered over her, wearing black leather armor over blood-red scales. A main of tendrils fell to his shoulder blades making him look even more beastly. Claws and teeth showed in white contrast to his burning amber eyes. Those eyes glared down at her with cold distrust.
"Follow," he ordered. He didn't even wait to see if she obeyed. Lesmythe hurried after him making sure to stay just off his left shoulder. Other than the occasional sidelong glance the dragonkin barely acknowledge her presence. For her part, Lesmythe kept her eyes down. She would be as quiet and unassuming as he desired. Maybe if she was lucky, he'd forget she existed. The seal pulsed, reminding her that some dreams would always stay elusive.
She didn't know how far they walked, only that they'd entered a part of Neverwinter she'd never seen before. It wasn't the slums, nor was it the Blue Lake district. This area was full of commoners, laborers, and craftsmen. "This must be the Tower district," she thought.
As they walked, she began to notice they garnered a fair amount of attention. At first, she thought the disparaging looks were aimed at her, then she realized they were focused solely on the dragonkin. Expressions ranging from fearful to distrustful. Did her master have a reputation?
Caught in her daydreaming the dragonkin pulled her into a shop. It was so abrupt she wasn't able to catch the name. Hastily she apologized for getting distracted, but her master ignored it. Instead, he approached the front counter of the store. A tall bald human wearing a smock stood in the midst of opening his store.
"Oh, it's you," the man said, seemly glad and disappointed by the dragonkin's presence. It appeared the two knew each other but weren't exactly on friendly terms. Then he noticed Lesmythe. He arched an eyebrow at the manacles still adorning her wrists and throat. "What's with the girl?"
The dragonkin responded by placing a stack of coins on the table. "I need a blade she can use. Keep it under twenty silvers." Lesmythe winced at the mention of a weapon. Her earlier suspicion was right. The dragonkin wanted her to fight for him. She tried not to think about using a knife on him lest she activates the seal.
The man grunted disapprovingly. "Looks like this city corrupted you." He sighed and started rummaging behind his counter. "A blade for twenty silvers?"
"Yes," he looked Lesmythe up and down. His nose wrinkled at the ratty oversized tunic she wore as an outfit. "Do you have any spare clothes or capes?"
Dawn was just breaking by the time they left. Lesmythe was wearing a relatively clean work dress over leggings and a properly sized shirt that covered her slave crest. The rags were left in a garbage bin where not even the rats approached.
A simple dagger hung on her hip. When she hesitated to draw it in the store, the dragonkin invoked the seal nearly making her double over in pain. Drawing it her master made the half-elf attack a wooden pillar to gauge her strength. After only a few slashes and stabs he sighed in frustration and disappointment.
Before they left the owner commented that the dragonkin was going to have a hard life, and harder death. Her master scoffed. "And the sky is blue."
Lesmythe didn't know where they were going. The only thing the Dragonkin had said since leaving the shop was "Good thing I don't want you for fighting." His words didn't reassure her. If her new master didn't need her for battle, then what use could he have for her. The stories of necromancers and cultists entered her mind. But if he was going to simply kill her then why spend the coin on clothing and arming her.
They were approaching a rather cheap Inn called the Cooked Goose when a sickening realization occurred to her. Looking at her owner, Lesmythe felt the blood drain from her skin as she sized him up. Her hands were trembling by the time they entered the establishment. She barely noticed the tavern or ascending the stairway. If the other patrons spotted her terrified expression none of them cared to act. The Cooked Goose wasn't the type of place where virtues left intact. If the Gods existed, then they surely despised her.
The dragonkin held the door open for her to enter. As she walked in eyes wet with the first tears in ages remained glued to the floor. The room was furnished with only a desk and a bed. Lesmythe could barely look at the mattress, or the table or any surface of the room. Any part could be where she would be used...just like before.
Trembling hands began undoing her cloak when the Dragonkin spoke. "Clean yourself up. You stink of that slaver's tent." His voice was clear and sharp, and it made her cringe. She turned in time to see him step through a partitioning door into an adjacent room. So, he would wait there while she made herself...presentable.
On the desk was a water basin and a few rags; a small accommodation on the Inns part.
Teardrop dripped into the water as she removed her clothes. It was all Lesmythe could do to stifle the sobs as she slid the damp rag over her pale skin. She cringed every-time the cloth rubbed the lash marks crisscrossing her shoulders and thighs. She doubted the master was the type to care about scars.
It was the first proper wash she'd had in some time, and yet by the end of it, the half-elf felt dirtier than ever. It was a wonder that after so many abuses she could still feel shame over what was about to happen. If there were Gods listening, she prayed her end would come swiftly. She would accept the pain so long as there would be an end.
She had just dawned her clothing when there was a knock on the door. "You finished yet?" he asked, voice filled with annoyance.
"Y-yes, m-master," she stuttered. Standing next to the bed Lesmythe did her best to hide her distress. As the door began to open, she closed her eyes and bowed. "I-I'm sorry it t-took so long, master-."
"Stand straight, girl," he barked. Lesmythe flinched but obeyed. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open in a gasp. There in the doorway stood the dragonkin, bedecked in his armor and weapons. He radiated lethality and cunning. Fear coursed through her the moment he'd stepped into the room. Yet his presence wasn't what dominated her attention. The half-elf could only gape as she took in deep black eyes set in pale skin, bedecked by a pair of tiny horns beneath a mop of red curls.
"Lesmythe, this is Yulia," the Dragonkin stated, placing a clawed hand on the shoulder of a girl no more than five years old. "You're going to help me take care of her."
