Welcome to Gaia! ::

Kyil's focus was still upon his friends legs, and he worked diligently to find any spots that seemed to have small tightened spots. Of course, he was a bit worried by the thinness in them. If Haellara kept Mikaril on this rack all the time...helping him escape would prove very difficult. "It is nothing to thank me for Mikaril. I shall remember to cover you from now on." He promised his friend before moving on to his other leg. It was as Mikaril ate, and spoke of his ankles, that Kyil paused to gently inspect the skin there.

"I will bring some lotion next time and I will try to come see you more often. I am certain if I come down during meal time, or while Mistress Haellara is asleep then I can spend more time with you. Now that I have my stash of magical items returned I can use Invisibility more often to get around." Kyil spoke with a faint light of hope in his voice. If they made plans that would make him feel more confident in his ability to somehow impact their situation.

Kyil glanced up, and his features smoothed into a smile as he saw the delight upon Mikaril's face. Yes...he would start taking more risk's now. He would have to. "I will start coming every two days. I would try to come more but I fear that my free time may be dwindling shortly. But I -will- come and bring you more to eat. Do you have something you prefer? Or shall I keep brining bits of meat? I figure you will need something like that to keep your strength up. Ah! And I shall bring you some milk next time too, I can add some herbal hints to help sustain you better."

Kyil paused, his fingers twitching slightly, when Mikaril mentioned Haellara's being light sleeper. For the next few moments following, he felt a sudden beading of sweat break out upon his brow and a ill sinking sensation in his stomach. The simple comment gave him the impression that Mikaril assumed Kyil would be sleeping in Haellara's bed often. It had been very comfortable, and it was true that Haellara had allowed him to slumber there. In fact it almost had seemed like she had purposefully been attempting to lull him into a relaxed state so he would in fact fall asleep in her bed.

If Haellara had the intention of keeping him tucked beside her when she slept Kyil knew he would fail slipping away from her. He felt as if something unbarebly heave had been dropped onto him. "Yes...of course." He forced the words from his lips despite the icey chill of anxiety and fear he was now fighting with. "I will be careful not to be caught and will take no risks Mikaril. I promise."

While Mikaril spoke of food, Kyil attempted to shake off the chilly sweat that had begun to creep down his back. Mikaril's casual words had brought to the fore in his mind what was waiting for him after he left this chamber. What was expected of him, and he worried about what sort of consequences it was going to lead to. "Tea. Of course. I should have thought of that. I shall certainly bring you tea next time Mikaril."

He hated the fact Mikaril had to be sensible. He felt like protesting the others words, but instead he reached to begin gently replaceing the straps upon Mikaril's legs, though he paused before finishing.

"In all likelyhood...your sister will be well aware that I have come down here Mikaril. Should I leave your limbs unfastened until such time that she returns? It might leave you with more time unbound then either of us expect and really...will it make all the difference to her once she see's you are not in the state she put you in?" With his attention directed to the cupboard. Kyil found himself distracted enough from his own problems to go and investigate. If Mikaril's armor was here...perhaps he could get it out! And if his bags were here...? Kyil eagerly opened the cabinet to peer inside. "This is good then. I can take your things and hide them until we are ready to escape the House. Plus, if Mistress Haellara decides to ruin your armor she will be unable to do so if I have hidden it."

Kyil looked within the cupboard, and after a moment of merely listening to Mikaril, he collected the magical bag and the special bag for carrying the plant thing. Opening the magical bag up, he began to move Mikaril's armor into it. This way it would not weigh heavily upon him, clank, and be easier to hide somewhere else. Once it was that he had Mikaril's armor safe and the bag wrapped over his shoulder, Kyil cleaned up the small cast off's from Mikaril's meal, and hovered just a moment beside the rack. It was hearing the firmness in Mikaril's voice, it made it hard for him to linger any longer. "I'll be back Mikaril." He promised him in a soft voice as he backed towards the door. He turned at about the same time Mikaril looked up at the ceiling and whispered his final words. "Don't.... Don't lose hope either." He called softly over his shoulder as his final fare well. Pressing his lips closed firmly, Kyil cracked the door open and slipped out.

Nuumia opened the door to his room with a expectation of what he would find. His small black face broke out into a wide lipped grin when he was not dissappointed. Kyil stood within his room. his pink eyes were lowered and the placid expression on his face held hints of what Nuumia took to be unhappiness. He was clean too. His long white hair was tied back and still damp from the bath that Nuumia had ordered him to take before coming. His shirt was oddly missing, but Nuu gave that little thought. His cloth's were not going to be staying on much longer anyways.

"Good. Now finish undressing and get on the bed." Nuumia ordered Kyil as he removed his own vestments. Kyil lifted his eyes and began to speak.

"Lord. I think-" Kyil began, but had himself cut off as Nuumia waved a hand at him and dropped his shirt to the floor.

"You can stop doing that. This lesson is going to just be about expierence. Namely, myself getting it. You can teach me the things I need to know for Haellara later on. Tonight I'm just going to enjoy myself and learn stuff on my own." Nuumia spoke with a strong level of confidence even as he dropped his drawers and stood unclothed. When he saw that Kyil had not yet complied with his order he crossed the few steps distance between them and took the top of Kyil's pants in his hands and roughly jerked them down.

Kyil gave a small start at the forwardness of the smaller male. His hands moved to grasp at his pants, and Nuumia responded with a rather sharp slap across one of his hands. "I said to undress slave." He spoke with a hint of anger that unsettled Kyil all the more.

Kyil shifted to step out of his pants as Nuumia pushed them down, and he tottered unsteadily on one foot while riseing the other. Nuumia, seeing this, took advantage of Kyil's unsteady situation and gave his midrift a strong push. Kyil fell, his behind striking the fur rug covered floor first. Nuumia, hardly one to give the hesitating slave any quarter, lifted his bare foot and slammed his heel into Kyil's chest to finish knocking him prone. Kyil felt the force of the kick, and he exhaled a bit of his breath as he laid flat on the floor.

Nuumia finished removing his pants and tossed them carelessly across the floor. "I told you to get on the bed. Since you hesitated I think the floor will suit for now. It's where a slave like you belongs anyways." Nuumia placed his hands on his hiips while speaking. His black eyes looked down upon Kyil with a jealouse coldness that Kyil could not remember seeing since his days in the Black.

Though this was supposed to be a session of sexual relations, Nuumia could not resist taking full advantage of the situation to satisfy some of his anger. Kyil was prone and vulnerable. His pink eyes reflected a uneasy distress, but Nuumia wanted to see more in that face. He wanted to see terror and pain and tears. Nuumia wanted to make Kyil suffer for being the object of his humilation. For taking Haellara's attention off him. For being with her first and seemingly pleaseing her. Kyil could see the flicker of ugly emotions playing over Nuumia's face. Furrows of anger and hatred were twisting his normally cute features into a fearsome mask.

Nuumia lifted his foot a second time, and Kyil expected to recieve another blow to his chest. So when that heel came down between his leg's he was certainly not prepared. Kyil's scream had a beautiful ringing quality to it. It carried through the door of Nuumia's room easily and echoed down the hall with a pristine clarity that let any who heard it know something was most definatly in a good deal of pain. Nuumia merely struck at Kyil that once before stepping over the now curled up male and falling to his knee's. Nuumia reached to grab Kyil by his ears, and he ripped Kyil's head back so he could look into his face. The sight of the tears flowing from his eyes was what he wanted to see, and Nuumia was not dissappointed in the least. His black lips cracked into a more viscious grin before he leaned in to practice his kiss on Kyil's trembling lips.

"Oh I am going to have a lotta fun tonight..." He hissed while briefly parting then resumeing his dominating kiss.

----- Due to TOS, the following parts of this solo can not be posted. The following can be surmised however: Nuumia does in fact rape Kyil. Following which he vents a touch more of his visciousness and jealousy on Kyil that leaves Kyil in a wounded state. -------

Nuumia finished washing the blood from his hands and cleaning himself up. He redressed in his good cloths, and sauntered from the bathroom to look upon Kyil. The bedsheets and mattress would need to be changed before Nuumia would be able to sleep there tonight. Blood and other fluids were in the process of staining the bedding, as well as drying upon Kyil. The slave had not moved from where Nuumia had left him. Due more to the fact that Nuumia had gotten a small touch carried away stabbing him with various poisons. He suspected Kyil was currently paralysed, and he really wasn't in the charitable mood to cure him.

However he did know that he could not allow Kyil to die. As lovely a thought as that would be. So he grudgingly had to check on the slave. Kyil was only dimly aware of Nuumia's small fingers touching upon his neck, then peeling back the lids of his eyes. He ached. He hurt, and he was still crying. As much as it shamed him, he had found that the more freely his tears flowed the easier Nuumia's torment seemed to be. Kyil felt a small vial being pushed between his teeth, and he felt Nuumia's fingers winding into his hair to tilt his head back as a liquid was poured down his throat. Three different vials were forced past his lips. As foul as two of the liquds were, he was grateful for the taste they covered and washed away. His mind cleared, and in a short period of time the pain of his body began to fade.

Kyil focused finally upon Nuumia, and he found himself looking into a disturbingly happy smile. "Back with me Kyil? You know, your a really bad lover. Loseing consciouness before I was done. I'm hardly satisfied. I guess we'll have to do this all over again tomorrow." Nuumia cheerfully spoke, and smiled only more widely at the small rattle of dissappointment that sounded in Kyil's throat.

"Now now. Talking back isn't allowed for slaves. I think maybe you should come to my room first thing in the morning to wake me. I'll practice some more before breakfast I think. But first..." Nuumia leaned back and looked over Kyil's body. Kyil felt him place a hand upon his chest, and as he lifted his head, he felt something pierceing his side.

Kyil screamed and started to writhe away. Nuumia; in a response, snapped at Kyil. "Hold still slave!" He pushed down more fully on Kyil's chest...and Kyil attempted to obay. Nuumia carefully cut with a dagger into his chest alongside his ribs. He pushed the blade until he felt it scraping against the bone. Then with small sawing motions, he began to slice at the meat between his ribs. Kyil thrashed while attempting to hold still as per the command.

It was hard enough to deal with the pain, but Nuumia was counting on Kyil finding it far more agonizeing to merely lay there and allow his body to be cut up. Strip by strip, Nuu cut through the rib meat until he had a nice bloody pile upon the bed. Kyil's breath rattled painfully, and with each rasping gasp pink foam bubbled up upon his lips.

"Hnn. musta cut too deep and nicked a lung." Nuumia casually replie as he produced a second healing potion. Placeing it between Kyil's lips, he watched the pink eyed male gulp the mixture down. Nuu had no interest in waiting to see the wound healing itself shut, so he wiped his dagger clean in Kyil's hair, and collected the bloody scraps of rib meat.

"When your done healing get out of my room. Have a servant replace the bedsheets and mattress. i want this bed ready for me to sleep in when I get back." He informed Kyil as he crossed the room. Nuu did not give a glance back once he reached the door. The happy little male had a glowing smile on his face as he looked forwards to what he knew would be coming next.

He knew where he was going. Haellara had given him instructions after all. Nuumia felt a glowing sense of calm and enjoyment really. He had hurt Kyil terribly, taken from him what pleasure Nuumia had been in the mood for, and had broken the pretty male down into tears and strips of meat. Nuumia glanced into the bowl he held from time to time at the glistening chunks. Pretty black skin clung to raw bleeding strips of fine dark red meat. Nuumia had chosen not to go anywhere near the tattoed section of Kyil's body, out of concern for ruining something pretty that Haellara probably enjoyed looking at. He would have to get a tattoo himself now. Something far better then Kyils. Maybe a spider or webbing tatto?

When Nuumia reached the kitchen he entered and paused at the doors. It seemed like everyone was bustling around with their heads down? Well...that had to mean the matron was already here! Nuu stood on his tip toes and scurried through the kitchen until he caught the sight of a head a bit taller then the rest. That had to be her! With a light hop in his step, Nuumia called out. "Matron! I have it!" Nuu lifted the bowl up above his head as he hurried to Haellara's side, his black eyes gleaming with dark delight as he presented the bowl of flesh to her. "Rib meat! Like you suggested!"

Nuumia happily transferred the bowl over to Haellara. Once more he recieved her praise, and the small black male appeared to glow despite how dark he was. The more Haellara approved of him, the more eager he was to continue earning her praise and approval. Though...her rewards were hardly such really. Nuumia supposed he could go back to Kyil and abuse him some more. He did not see himself growing tired of that for a good long time. But he doubted the other male had even managed to get himself cleaned up yet, and Nuumia was certain he would have preferred to play with Kyil when he was more recovered and able to scream loudly again.

Still, as it was that he had been given permission to do whatever he wanted...Nuumia chose to seat himself on a nearby cooking table and watch intently as Haellara prepared the streaps of meat he had provided. He watched as she hacked, then carefully stripped the skin from the meat. He watched intently as she bowned it in the pan and seasoned it. Actually it smelled kinda good and Nuumia leaned over to sniff at it now and then.

"Smells kinda rich." He commented in a off handed manner to no one really. When the cooking was done, and Haellara moved away from the pan, Nuumia hopped up to take her place. With a child like curiousity, he dumped the thin strips of black skin into the pan, and then added a puff of the seasoning she herself had been useing. Happily he picked up a fork and stirred the flesh strips around in his play.

It was the sound of gagging that drew nuumia's attention, and he peered over to see the cooks tongue flop out of his mouth. While it was that Haellara saw to threatening the cook, Nuumia speared the tongue with the fork and flopped that into the pan with the sizzling strips of skin.

He hummed for a moment, and flicked a few strips out of the pan while Haellara gave her instruction to the cook. Nuumia gave the now frying tongue a poke over, then handed the cooking fork off to the unfortunately tongueless male. "Here. Finish with that. I wanna eat it later." He cheerfully quipped. Nuumia pinched the fried skin he had just flicked out of the pan...and skipped on out after Haellara. He could follow her to her playroom at least...crunching in a undisturbed manner on the cooked skin as if it were a strip of bacon all the way. "Should I send Kyil back to your chambers Matron? Or can I have him for the rest of the night?"

His eyes closed and his breathing steady, Mikaril tried to catch as much rest as he possibly could before Haellara returned, as he knew she inevitably would. Glad as he was that Kyil had gotten away safely before she had come back, he was still wracked with nervous tension. Kyil had removed the remnants of the meal he had brought him, but he had left the empty bottle of healing potion out, and perhaps the biggest telltale, the pink shirt that still covered him below his waist. But even if Kyil had corrected these, the absence of the blindfold and stitches in his lips would give it away, to say nothing of the woefully small amount of pain essence gathered since Haellara's last departure. There was just no way around it; she would find out he had been visited, and he was going to be punished. But he would prepare himself to take it stoically, remembering his promise to Kyil to remain strong. Though it held little comfort, he knew there was only so much Haellara could do to him without putting his life in any immediate danger.

Much too soon for his liking, he heard the door creak open, and the soft padding of Haellara's footsteps. She came into his line of sight, and he was surprised to see her with a plate heaped with what looked like strips of meat, similar to the ones Kyil had brought him earler. Had she brought them for him? It seemed a bit logical, considering she had already let him off the rack to exercise; if she didn't want him becoming soft and boneless, she probably wouldn't want him dying from something like starvation either. She had always been one to hate competition. Still, remembering well her idea of liquid nourishment, he eyed the meat warily, wondering if there was anything like crushed glass or tongue-dissolving poisons contained therein. He saw her immediately sizing up his thin form on the rack, and saw the telltale narrowing of the eyes and the whitening of the knuckles. He could tell she was furious, and he prepared himself for anything from a rain of blows to a good splash with her specially made hot oil that took hours to cool off.

To his surprise, he watched her set the meat down on the table and turn to him, traces of her anger fast dissolving from her comely face. Her eyes, which had before been blazing with anger, were slowly becoming mellow, and the lines of anger that slashed her face were gone. Not sure what this bode for him, Mikaril could only watch as she walked over to him slowly, as though measuring each step, until she was right beside the rack, looking down at his unbound wrists. She reached down and fastened them, but instead of her customary tightening that caused him to wince, she secured them just firmly enough to hold him fast. Glancing only once at the scrap of pink cloth, she moved to the foot of the rack and did the same to his ankles. She walked back to the right side of the rack, and began muttering a chant. Almost instantly, he felt a pressure on his chest, as though something heavy and invisible had leaped onto his chest and had settled there. As he heard the chant finish, instead of dissipating, the pressure increased, making him wheeze, then choke. He felt the blood rush to his head, and his chest began to flare with pain. He both heard and felt ribs snap, and the hooks began to burrow deeper into his back with the added weight. Spots danced before his eyes, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

He saw Haellara move closer to him, until she was leaning over him, her face filling his line of vision. "Do you know why I love to punish you, Mika?" she said softly. Mikaril tried to answer, but the pressure only brought forth a strangled gasp that did little to represent just why he thought Haellara loved to torment him. "Because," she said as though he had not answered, "You never learned to avoid pain. You insist that it come looking for you. Avoiding pain is so simple; adhere to the rules of society. Granted, you still experience the sting of being kept in your place, but what are a few whip scars when it comes to staying alive?" She leaned over and brushed her lips against his newly healed ear. "The fact is, Mika, you deserve to be punished. You deserve to feel the pain of rebelling, of failing to learn your place. You refused to learn what it means to be a proper male, and in so doing, you earn the reward you are now experiencing every day."

Mikaril could only shake his head, although it caused the spots to double the speed of their dance. Haellara's voice sounded as though it was coming from the other end of a long corridor. "You do not believe me? Very well." Suddenly the pressure was lifted, and Mikaril found himself taking in gulps of air, feeding lungs that were begging for oxygen, making his chest heave with the effort and causing his cracked ribs to voice their displeasure. He suddenly felt something cold around his neck, and he looked down in absolute shock. Haellara's truth-detecting necklace was now around his throat. He looked up at her with surprise, and he saw her look down at him with simple sternness. "Now you will know if I speak falsely, will you not? Listen well then." With ease, she levitated herself up until she was able to climb onto the rack. Once there, she settled her body until Mikaril's legs were between her own, and her hands were braced right above his shoulders. Remembering the last time she had positioned herself so above him, Mikaril prepared himself for another round of pain, or something potentially worse, though he had held on to the hope that Haellara would not go so far as to sample those she was so closely related to.

But instead of doing either of those, Haellara lowered herself until her upper half was nearly on top of him, and she rested her chin on his shoulder. "I know what it is you have desired so over the years. Do not try to deny it; I need no pendant to detect your lies. All your life you have been yearning for acceptance from your matron, our mother, under the misguided belief that you could somehow earn her favor as easily as I could. I know not who put such an idea into your head, but whoever he was, he was no friend to you. You have never been able to accept your position as a mere male; thinking it was not good enough for you. And look where you are now; back at home with naught to show for it but a few articles of clothing, some cheap trinkets, and a male as sadly misguided as you." Mikaril bore the words with little regard; she was finally using the mental torments on him. Well, he didn't care what she would say; he would not listen.

But then, he felt her arm come up, and as she began to run her fingers along his arm, she continued. "Do you really think you and that male you call a friend stand a chance of having a future together? I know so much about him now, you know. I just received his comfortess records from his former mistress, and I can tell you now that you have no future with that one. Why, do you know he is afraid of males? He had a male customer hurt him severely, and since then he has been averse to them. How do you know that one day, when you least expect it, that same fear might seize him, and he will defend himself from you though you make no move against him? Do you also know that he is physically unable to hold a weapon? What good would he be to you out there in the wilds; I seriously doubt a hook horror would be impressed by pressure points. He has even been magically enhanced so that he is unable to decide anything for himself. He is a burden, a soft, useless thing that should have perished the instant he was turned out of his house. Yet you showed him mercy, took him in and protected him, the only profit being his friendship. That, Mika, is the very essence of non-drow. A true drow would have left him to cling to his folly, not concern themselves with his well-being. You are, at heart, as soft as a surface elf."

"No! That's not true!" Mikaril cried out, his eyes wide in disbelief. Yet......Haellara voiced what he was already thinking. "Did you feel any vibration, Mika? If not, then you know it to be true." She finished with his arm and began rubbing his neck, her fingernails scratching. "You have made so many mistakes to our race, you should have been punished long ago. I know it hurts, and yet I am willing to offer you what pardon I have in my power to give. Yes, I can make the pain go away, all of it. Wouldn't you like that, Mika? To never have to have my fire slugs crawl on your belly, or feel your blood gush out of you like a fountain, or even of drinking your own pain. I'm sure you would. And.....are you feeling for the vibration?......I am willing to make it all go away, should you follow my advice." He heard her adding almost as an afterthought, "I would offer the same to your friend were you able to teach the same to him."

Mikaril found himself shaking as Haellara rubbed the back of his neck. He felt the hairs standing up, and when she moved her fingers to his collarbone and then his chest, he felt his muscles rippling in response, but every touch felt tainted, as though it were being done by fingers encrusted with filth. "I know of your ears now too, Mika. You know Lolth allowed them to be so because of your unfaithfulness? She CAN be the figure you once thought her to be; one that looks after us and protects us, keeps us stronger than anything from the surface that would dare to venture down here. Come back to us; embrace her once again; you may still be a male, but you can still serve." He found his breaths becoming ragged and panicked as Haellara's body shifted and her questing fingers found his stomach, where she began absently tracing circles, almost rubbing, as though he were a beloved pet cat. All he could think about, absurd as it was, was her feeling lumps and concluding that he had been fed. Still she purred, "Think of the grief and confusion you could avoid by simply ceasing to deny the ways of your race and coming back into the fold. No more would you be bothered by worry over a life other than your own, no more would you feel grief at another's passing, or confusion when you are presented with ideals that clash with our own. Believe in the absolute, and trust in the methods that have kept us alive for thousands of years, and you might just find the life you have been so desparately trying to find. Embrace the darkness; it's what you, as a drow, were meant to do."

Mikaril barely felt his sister's probing fingers now. His mind felt completely numb. How easily he could dismiss his sister's ramblings as so much rothe-crap, but as she had gone on, not once had the pendant vibrated. And as she had shifted herself and given him plenty of chances to look down his body, he had not seen it change color either. Could that mean that everything Haellara was saying was true? It couldn't be...and yet when she had spoken of the book, of Kyil being afraid of males, and his alteration that made him unable to made his own choices; no vibration. But surely what stung him the most was being likened to a surface elf, the hated enemy of his entire race, creatures he hated as much as the next drow. It made his face burn with shame; he couldn't regret all he had done for Kyil, but to have a powerful charm acknowledge just how un-drow he really was.....it made his heart sick.

So busy was he reflecting on it all that he failed to notice Haellara rising up off of him, then walking back to the table and returning with a few strips of the meat she had brought in. She approached him once again, selected one of the strips, and held it to his mouth. "Eat. I want you to remain in some semblance of health, in spite of your punishment." Once more feeling no vibration, though had he bothered to look down he would have seen the color shift that might have clued him in to an ulterior motive for him being fed that meat, Mikaril allowed her to place a strip into his open mouth, where he carefully began to chew, wary of tricks like crushed glass. His eyes widened in surprise; no rothe meat this, but something he had never tasted before. Glad of the distraction from his clouded mind, he savored the flavor, and was glad once again of the light seasoning. No sooner had he swallowed it than Haellara was dangling another piece, the strip's juices dripping onto his face. He allowed himself to be fed this way, not daring to stop, until all that remained on the platter was a few smears of juice, and he felt the acute ache of having consumed more than he ought to have, which was probably what Haellara had intended the whole time. Mercifully though, Haellara seemed satisfied, almost delighted beyond belief, that he had accepted the meat she had brought him, though he couldn't figure out exactly why.

He saw her picking up the bottle of liquid pain from beneath the rack, and he made a despaired face. Apparently seeing it, Haellara looked down at him and smiled what would have been a sad smile on any other drow's face. "I'm sorry, but until you give me a definite answer, you must continue drinking this. Look on the bright side; there's less of it thanks to your friend's visit, though you might wake from your drugged sleep sooner and live the torment of being alone as the hours crawl by, feeling those ribs, or something else crawling on you, so that really isn't much of a bright side, is it?" Hearing her chuckle, he felt his mouth forced open, and offered no resisitance as the burning liquid assualted his throat and burned as it made it's way through his body. The last thing he saw was Haellara moving to the cage where she kept her fire slugs before the colors and sounds took him.

A sudden scream caused Haellara to quicken her pace as she walked away from the playroom and deeper into the heart of the house; screams weren't uncommon within her walls, but this one was too close to not warrant investigating. If someone was lurking in her house and shouldn't be, they were soon going to wish they weren't. She heard the frantic pattering of feet up ahead, and was just in time to move to the side of the corridor to prevent her colliding with a female cleaning servant, running full speed down the hallway with terror in her eyes. Feeling a twinge of jealousy that there might be something else in her House besides herself that caused such looks, she was about to make her way down the corridor to face this new terror, when the terror itself rounded the corner in pursuit of the slave.

She blinked in surprise as she watched Nuumia rush past her; felt the very breeze he kicked up in his wake ruffle her robes and blow her hair about slightly. Watching him vanish after the servant, continuing to yell loud enough to wake the dead all the way in the Boneyard, she threw back her head and laughed at Nuumia's antics. Well, she HAD given him leave to spend the rest of his day doing whatever he pleased, and if he wished to terrify a few servants into hysterics, why not? It wasn't as though they could come to her and complain, unless he disrupted the general harmony of the House's work force. But even that never guaranteed the tale-teller safety from the repercussions; servants had ended up sacrifices from coming to her with complaints that she had viewed as petty and a waste of time.

She entered the corridor that housed her chambers and immediately noticed a figure hunched down beside her doors. Even with the new shirt, she could tell at a glance that it was none other than Kyil, no doubt fresh from the painful and daunting task of teaching Nuumia. That would certainly explain the bout of pent-up energy her future patron was currently displaying; she had often felt lingering euphoria like that herself. On the opposite end of the scale, Kyil looked to her to be more dead than alive, as though he had given up a part of his life-force, and who knows; he might very well have.

She approached the male and stopped in front of him, knowing that he could at least see her feet and respond accordingly. "Come," she said simply, and placed her hand on the handle of one of her doors, causing it to swing open silently. Knowing that Kyil would obediently follow, she waited until the door was closed again before she walked over to her drawers and fund something more comfortable to slip into, which still left much of her bare skin showing. She moved toward Kyil, then stopped and wrinkled her nose. Kyil had taken some time to clean himself up, but the stench of the kitchen still clung to him. She whirled around and walked briskly over to her drawers, where she took hold of a handle and pulled to reveal a custom-made drawer stocked with scores of colorful bottles filled with perfumes. One side had delicate, smaller bottles, and housed the more expensive perfumes that were hers; the other had larger bottles of cologne that she would use to spritz any male that she brought here who did not smell up to her strandards. She gestured for Kyil to come forth. "Choose one and spray yourself with it. I don't want to smell even a whiff of kitchen food on you, though I must admit, I might not mind so much if you smelled like the surface elf you cooked for us earlier."

Leaving him with that less than pleasant thought, Haellara walked to her bed and carefully lay in it, breathing deep the scent of the fresh sheets and the lingering scent of the feathers that her matress was stuffed with. It was enough to make her want to lay her head back and actually sleep, but she knew she had to stay awake for this encounter, while the means to control it were still fresh in her head.