Chapter 2 – Purchase

She stared in amazement at the face of the Orc, surprised with blood pouring from his mouth. She could feel warm liquid all over her body, soaking into her clothing and settling in the dips of her body. She cringed as she felt the liquid creeping down her stomach, slowly oozing down her chest and chin. She could feet the hot, thick liquid gathering, dripping down her body and staining her. It was as if her purity and innocence were being drowned out in a slow flood of red, supported by the roaring of the demonic crowd. The orc's body slid sideways, tearing the golden sword from her hands as she lay there in shock. She had just committed the most terrible crime any soul could commit. She had defied the gods, disobeyed Arkay's lore of life and death. She had just taken a life. She scrambled to her feet, fighting against collapsing as she trembled like a newborn foal on its first legs. She looked up to the stand, staring into the faces as the Elf before her had. She trembled as the Nord stuck his hand out, thumb once again level with the floor. She was aware she was shaking violently and feeling as if she would throw up. She was covered in blood. She had killed. Divines forgive her, she had killed.

"For her survival in the Arena we grant R'en life" he said simply, turning it so his thumb was pointing upwards. She blinked in amazement as the crowd began to cheer loudly, chanting the name the Nord had given her on the spot.

"R'en! R'en! R'en!" Over and over again the name was chanted, yet it had no meaning to her. She didn't fight for her name, after all that had been given to her by her new masters as well. She knew the crowd expected her to put a show on. To raise her hands and cheer like a wild animal with them. She simply couldn't. Everything felt blurred and far away, and she reached for the sword, pulling it out of the body. The orc's body jolted as the sword was pulled free, as if he had been clinging to the last of his life. R'en embraced the new name, and she clung to the cold sword as if her life depended on it. For all she knew her life would depend on it, and she was unwilling to part with the blade she had committed such a crime with. She deserved to be haunted by this crime for the rest of her life, or at least until someone tore the weapon from her grasp. Guards came in and grabbed her, one of them taking the sword roughly from her grasp as the other chained her and dragged her away, forcing her to leave the admiration of the screaming crowd behind.

…

"That Elf put up an impressive fight" he noted, sitting back in his chair. Barvo Caracia was an Imperial, a man known for taking risks and succeeding where others would fail. He wore fine robes, with a dagger at his belt. His neck was adorned with many fine jewels and golden chains in a masculine fashion. Unlike his wife however he did not cover himself in expensive pieces, only enough to present the illusion of absolute wealth and power. His companion at the fights was different however. She wore Iron armor, with a sword on one hip and a waraxe on the other. She occasionally switched out for a mace although that was more when she had fought. Braesa had once been a fighter, until she had performed a feat of questionable legend. Unwilling to ruin her reputation she had become a guard for her master, as well as a trainer of his fighters. His gladiators.

Barvo Caracia was not a particularly handsome man, but he was not the ugliest man in the pits either. His chin was squared and somewhat blunt, angling out along a short jaw. His lips were small, hidden under a long moustache of dark, coarse hair. His nose was neither small nor large, neither pointed nor blunt. His cheekbones were high, his eyes dark and large and his brow high and wide. He was balding, with a fine layer of short hair as the only protection for the naked skin of his head.

Braesa was an aging Redguard woman, although her face did not betray as much. Her face was a blunt heart shape, with a square, blunt chin working up on the fine angle of her jaw to wide, high cheekbones. Her brow was somewhat wide yet neither high nor low. Her small, dark eyes were shadowy orbs that matched her dark chocolate skin. Her hair was white, shaved along the sides of her hair while a moahawk of dredlocks sat atop her head. Her hair was growing back, giving her an aged appearance, yet her face only bore a few lines and scars to prove it. Many said she was blessed by the gods, others said she was secretly a Necromancer draining the life from the pits. Either way, nobody dared mess with her.

"I'd call that luck over a fight, Master Caracia" she spoke, her voice deep for a female and wise. Barvo looked down at the pit, watching the girl tremble in fear and shock as she got to her feet. Braesa noticed that the woman didn't seem to flinch with the weight of the blade; she simply had never killed before. The Redguard highly doubted that the little Darkelf had even drawn somebody's blood before. She pitied the girl for having to go through such an ordeal. She felt for the girl having to kill and be bathed in blood literally. Most of all, she pitied the girl for living. Now she would be thrown into the situation again, forced to fight for her life. She would likely die a painful death, and if her body didn't die it would be her mind that would perish.

"Maybe you're right, Braesa, but that doesn't mean she couldn't be skilled" Barvo answered, rubbing his chin in thought. Braesa stared at him for a moment, her expression falling once she recognised the expression on his face, the look in his eye. He was about to take a risk, he was seriously considering taking a risk on the Dark Elf. He turned to look at her, eyes thoughtful and expression serious.

"Go check the Elven Stock while we have the chance" He ordered, turning his attention to the HighElf. He knew of this man. Faeour was an Elf of high standing among the patrons of the pits and of the Cyrodiil Arena alike. He was a man with fine tastes in fighters, and a man who relentlessly punished his enemies. Barvo had noticed the looks shared between Danarus and Faeour, and he realised an opportunity when he saw one. If he could buy Danarus for a small amount of coin he could use him as leverage over Faeour. He could use the WoodElf to gain favour among the Highest ranking members of the Pits, and if someone up high owed him a favour he could enter fights to fill his purse and continue providing for his beautiful wife.

"Vilenia won't like me leaving you alone" Braesa shook her head, denying the order as best she could. She never wanted to harm her master in any way, not after he had kept her after what she viewed as a failure. Her body bore the scars of that fight, and Barvo bore the reputation stain of granting her life. The crowds had been divided, many cheered for her for having survived so long in such a deadly fight, others howled for her blood because a Gladiator should never surrender. She was also grateful they had not bred her. It was common knowledge that the best female gladiators did not last long in the pits before they were bred to males, expected to bare children who would also do well in the pits and earn their masters coin. Barvo had never even considered that for Braesa, and that was not because of her skill. She had been a legend.

"My wife will not care so long as I remain uninjured and bring home investments that will let her live her luscious lifestyle. You would do well to remember your place, Braesa" Barvo said, turning his attention to the Redguard once again. She stood for a moment, staring at the Imperial as if he had several heads sprouting from his shoulders. She then lowered her eyes, bowing her head in respect.

"It shall be done, Master Caracia"

…

Hands. Hands everywhere. Stroking her. Caressing her. Grabbing at her muscles. Fingers running through her unruly hair. The blood had not been washed from her body even as her outer layer of clothing had been stripped from her form. The hands that inspected her for their master were both rough and cold, armor and flesh alike spreading the evidence of her sins across her bare flesh. Some touches were soft and curious, it was those touches she relaxed to, even allowed herself to imagine she had some worth to. Then there were the touches of men, interested in her blood covered body for their pleasures. It was those touches she shied away from, resisted with all the power her mind could conjure. She was used to such touches, such expectations. She was used to everything. Even as a young woman she was a slave, a DarkElf many considered somewhat attractive. For a slave she was considered exotic, something wild and untamed to be broken in as one might break a horse. The chains around her wrists that held her obedience need not be there, for she was already broken. A lifetime of servitude only to be split from the bright things in her life, her family… such a fate would break any woman.

"Covered skin is not to be touched until purchase, sir" One of the Guards spoke up, stepping forwards. R'en kept her eyes tightly closed as she felt the hand on her lower stomach, about to slip lower than permitted. It would not be the first time someone had violated her privacy, her body and her rights. The hand was yanked away by the guard, and another stepped forwards to inspect her. It was a Redguard woman with a stern, thoughtful expression. She took her iron gauntlets off quickly, making R'en take a quick, panicked breath. When Iron gauntlets came off the touch was normally rough and violent. It was usually Brutes looking for something to take to a well-behaved slaves bed. She had been bought for this once, and her mind still bore the scars of how poorly she had been treated before she had been bought as a serving girl.

"Relax girl" The woman's voice was scary, deep and strong. R'en found herself obeying, her muscles relaxing as the woman inspected her. Strong hands grabbed her arms, measuring her strength and condition before running down her shoulders and back. R'en didn't try to look over her shoulders; she had given up on doing that since she had been beaten as a six year old for the said action. She simply stood, trying to relax in the chains as the woman ran her hands down her back. R'en flinched when her legs were grabbed, inspected for their strength. The Redguard tugged on her ankle, asking R'en to lift her leg. She obeyed, holding a leg up as the woman continued inspecting her. Pressure on her knee told her to put the leg back down, which she was all too happy to do. Once the Redguard finished her inspection R'en was led away, her chains removed before she was thrown into a solitary cage.

She scrambled into the back of her cage, hiding in the corner as she gathered her knees to her chest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run and weep into welcoming arms. She was so afraid. So terribly afraid of what would happen to her. Many hands at this market had been rough, and many more had been yanked away from her body as they tried to take her cover skin. She shuddered as she remembered markets where she had not been covered, markets where anything and everything was welcomed to be done to her. There had been no limits to how she could be touched, how closely she could be examined. The chains there had been thicker, heavier and more than just her wrists had been chained. She was a slave, of no worth beyond the pleasures and luxury she could bring to her masters, and to their beloved. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting against the tears streaming down her face as she concealed a whimper. She closed her eyes for but a moment, but a moment turned into longer, as it always would when exhaustion of the body was mixed with exhaustion of the mind.

She screamed as a warm hand touched her bare shoulder, waking her from her sleep. It was a soft shake to the shoulder that made her realise that she wasn't being snatched from her cage, that she still had the safety of steel between her and the crowd of lustful, hateful bidders who would see her slavery continued until her death. She leapt away from the hand, scrambling backwards. She felt the pull in the back of her arms as she lifted her body and pushed backwards against the dust of the ground below, she winched each time her foot slipped and her heel hit the ground instead of digging into it, yet she continued until she felt the cold steel of the bars against her back. When another arm reached through the bars and wrapped around her face she did the first thing that came to her mind, she followed instinct. Her teeth closed around the man's flesh and she bit down until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The man behind her screamed, tearing his arm from her jaws as she rolled forwards so she was out of the man's reach then crawled into the first corner once again. Out of the two touches it was the preferable one. It seemed the least threatening.

"Hey. Its ok, girl. I have no ill will towards you" A soft male voice said. It was rich and earthy in some ways, the voice of a man who spent his time singing in the wilds of Tamriel. She turned to look at the man and instantly recognised the Elf from the pits. Danarus they had called him.

"I… I recognise you. Danarus" She said in a low voice. She knew talking among slaves was not all ways appreciated, but at the same time she needed the comfort. She needed to know she was still alive, still a Dunmer and not a common piece of shit left in a cage to rot.

"My name is Endrayus" Danarus responded in a determined tone of voice. His voice betrayed his anger at being called a name that was not his. His warm, earthy eyes shone with absolute fury. These people had taken him from his land, imprisoned, and beaten him until they had sent him into the pit to die.

"Your name is what they tell you it is, Danarus" R'en retorted without pause. She paused, realising how her voice had sounded, what she must look like. A rabbit trapped in a cage between the fox and the wolf, and she had chosen to go and face the wolf. Danarus was every inch a wolf, quick and nimble with deceptive strength that would let him cleave a man's head off with a dagger. Danarus had proven himself an animal in the pits, defeating three men. She had seen their bodies dragged to the edges by men as the guards had escorted him out, although her attention had mostly been on the Bosmer himself. Now she snapped at him, after moments ago being scared and fleeing.

"I take it this isn't new for you then. Slavery? Your life in another's hands?" he asked, voice softening yet again. R'en looked at him, noticing him truly for the first time. Sweat, blood and dust clung to his muscular body, running from a cut along his peck muscle. He truly was an animal, in appearance as well as skill. She knew without a doubt he would be kept alive, if for nothing more than a noble woman to star at him as if he were a statue. At most, they would want children from such stock to provide future slaves. She nodded at the man, doing her best to ignore how attractive he was at the time. She had never looked at men as attractive, but there was a certain charm about the Elf that drew her eye.

"I..." she began.

"Bring the Dark Elf. Somebody has paid a high price for her" the Guard growled, throwing the doors to her cage open. She was dragged out by the ankle, without chains being placed upon her. She kicked and screamed as her body was dragged along the ground, treated as if she were nothing. She could hear the laughter and appreciating whistles from the other slaves, along with Danarus screaming at them to stop. She was eventually let go, only to have a guard leap on top of her. No! they were going to take her again. They were going to have their fun with her first. She struggled, crying and pleading as they put her chains on but nobody came to her air. She remained helpless as the chains were put on her, and she was rolled into a crate.

"Let me out!" She cried, although she knew it was futile. The light shone across her skin one last time as the side was placed against the crate, and then the darkness claimed her. She was alone and helpless, trapped inside such a small space she barely had room to lift her cheek from her knee. She knew better than to try and claw her way out, or to make another sound. She would be punished if she alerted any of the City Guards to her presence in the crate. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as the sound of a hammer hitting a nail filled her ears, the tiny metallic ring as the nails were driven deeper into the wood, and her fate carved into the stones of time.

There was well and truly no escape for her now.