Vesper awoke to the faint, and odd feeling of being above ground level. She wasn't sure exactly what it was that gave it away. Perhaps the way the wind hustled against the structure every now and again. She lay there for a moment, eyes closed and she listened and felt the world around her. She felt oddly numb, through there was a tightness across her body that worried her. 

Her breathing came easily, and when she stretched out a paw she felt she could move. She didn't feel as if anything was tethering her, and she was surprised to find she was breathing at all. She wasn't in the den of her Master… that much was obvious. 

She finally opened her eyes, and when she did ao a furred creature scurried out. She didn't have the energy to be worried about that just yet. Instead, she started to look around her. At least, as much as she could without moving her head.

Several moments after the furred creature scurried away a white wolf slowly made his way up the stairs of the treehouse. He rounded the corner inside and took another three steps to his own door. He stood in the doorway quietly for a moment, trying to determine if she was indeed awake and not wanting to disturb her in case Jase had misread her stirring for dreams.

"Ah, you are awake. Good." He said, "Careful! Your back is wrapped for healing, I need to redress it." He warned her in case she startled and tried to move. "That bear got you pretty good." He started to prepare a fresh bowl of paste and grabbed the herbs he needed from the rafters around the room.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

A careful inspection found bottles with mixtures across the floor. Feathers scattered among them, and herbs dangling from the ceiling. It was logical to assume she was in a healers den, and perhaps explained why she was still alive. She’d never been in a healers den before, despite her many injuries.

Movement in the doorway had her jerking suddenly, and holding back a hiss of pain as her body reminded her how bad an idea that was. Helpless, she was helpless. But that wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to her. Her nostrils flared as he took in his scent, looking somewhere below his chin. This… was the wolf that had pulled her out of the snow, and had chased the bear off its kill. But why? A polar bear was an incredible risk to take on. She wasn’t worthy. He moved into the den, closer to her as he grabbed some things and spoke of redressing it. “How should I address you, My lord?” the words were raspy past her throat, spoken without affliction. Buying herself time. Time to read the situation, to understand why she was here.

"Speech"

He stirred the tea and tested it with a dip of his lips from a ladle. Perfect temperature. Not too hot or cold.

Her inquiry made his brows furrow, Lord? He was no...ooooh. Right, She probably thought he was some lord because she was a slave! Well, that confirmed Basilisk's theory for him. Well, Ignita just called Bas, by his name.

"I am Oleander." He replied without looking at her. You've got to be stoic, Ollie, you can do it. Take charge of the situation! This didn't seem to come as easily as fighting the bear did. Right, he also needed some information from her. Usually, he was a lot warmer with his patients, unless it was Bas of course, but the only other slave he's tended was Ignita and even then he hadn't tended her much, she was more in Wylan's wheelhouse.

He placed the large leaves to soak in the tea and proceeded to crush the herbs into the paste to tend her wounds.
"How shall I address you?" He asked, spinning around on his heel, still crushing the paste into the bowl. Where was Eterna with that snack for the girl?

"Speech"

Hmmm. He was going to be a tough nut to crack. He gave little away as he told her his name, his own tone neutral. He did not instruct her on how to address him, and she mused over that for a moment. When in doubt, stick with what you know. “My Lord Oleander, you may call this unworthy one Vesper.” She said meekly, keeping her eyes down so he wouldn’t see the calculation behind them. She was too weak to attempt any sort of escape, she knew she wouldn’t get far.

He continued to work, placing plants into hot liquid, to create some evil brew. She hadn’t seen the like before. She lifted her head up a little higher, watching him carefully. When he spun on his heel towards her, she flinched down lowering her gaze. Alright, she needed information, and that meant taking a few risks. She’d done that before, and she could take her licks. She thought of her raw back, and knew any punishment would feel a great deal worse right now. Don’t overthink it, just do as her mother liked to say. “My Lord Oleander, for what service have you brought me here? I fear I would not be very pleasing in bed in the state I am in.” perhaps that little seed of doubt would buy her some time. Surely she wouldn’t be any fun in this condition. Well, that wasn’t really true. Some wolves were turned on by helplessness.

"Speech"

The slight narrowing of his eyes flickered for a moment as she continued to call him lord but with his name. Unworthy? They really must have done a real number on her. This won't do! Everyone mattered here, and she'll be one of them! She didn't meet his eyes like Ignita would, he should probably stop comparing the two... They seem to be two completely different types entirely.

Service? He tried not to show his confusion as he tried to parce her words together into something meaningful to him. She was lying in a bed already was it uncomfortabl- suddenly it dawned on him and he nearly dropped the bowl with his paws and coughed. Oh stars no. Nope, no. No. He was still just on the cusp of believing all girls had cooties. He was by no means interested in cooties.

A flutter of ivory wings came to his rescue. She flew in from the window and dropped a rat down on the floor then swooped her way out.
"Ah, Eterna! Thank you!" The white raven sang back to him from a branch outside. She hopped over the leaves and peered back into the window at his patient within, her brilliant sapphire eyes aglow with intelligence and curiosity.

"This is for you." He picked up the meal and placed it in front of her. His stoic mask slipped for just a moment. He had been raised and intensely cared for by the gentlest parents of the Armada. He didn't know how long he could keep this up if she kept throwing him for loops like that.

"Now-" He turned back to his paste and away from the slave. He raised his eyebrows at the wall for a moment trying to compose himself, and reset his mask again as he picked up a bowl and ladled the tea into it.

"Now-" He tried again, yes he repeated himself, placing the bowl within her reach, "I won't be called lord anything. Just Oleander. You may call Basilsk Lord though, he is the Warlord. You are in the territory of The Armada. I will be the Trauma Specialist. - It's not hot or cold, should be a bit sweet -" He interrupted himself to help her attention on the tea.

"How'd you come by getting eaten by a bear?" Despite his lanky figure, he was pure muscle. Behind him, on a wall, his polar bear skull helmet and thick fur cape hung within reach. A long scar ran over one of his shoulders and his ribs from the claw of the tiger that she was now lying on. Maybe he was a little awkward and generally a little to nice to be a slaver, but he would be a quick and formidable opponent. As she was probably well aware.

"Speech"

She blinked once, hiding her surprise when a white bird glided through the hut, dropping a critter on the boards beneath. Her white Lord thanked the creature, and it was immediately clear it had been doing his bidding. She was starting to wonder what on earth she had gotten herself into now. This wolf whispered to feathered creature - no, more than that. She remembered the hint of something soft and white that had scurried out when she had awoken. He whispered to creatures and they did his bidding, he stirred strange herbs into pots. He was a witch wasn’t he? She had heard of the like before.

She looked hungrily at the rodent as it was offered to her. Clutching it carefully in one paw, and waiting to ensure she wasn’t missing any ques before helping herself to the snack. She ate it in its entirety, skin and bones all. She knew how to make the most of scraps.

He placed his bowl in front of her next, and she kept a careful side eye on it just in case anything emerged from its contents. One could never be sure exactly what might come of a witches brew. Her main attention landed carefully on her Lord, listening as he told her the name of the territory she had been taken to. It was not a name she recognised, and she wondered if her Owner would come knocking at their door. Surely no, he had told her himself that she wasn’t worth the effort.

She blinked at his odd description in the middle, and she tried to bite her tongue. Truly, she tried. She blamed it on the trauma. “I did not realise Trauma Specialists could be hot, cold, or sweet, Sir Oleander.” She said in a very polite ‘oh, please forgive me’ voice. His next question was not unexpected, but not exactly one she wished to answer. “I was committing a great sin, I can only assume the spirit of the bear was chosen to punish me.” She helpfully explained.

"Speech"

He saw the gleam of wonder in her eyes as Eterna appeared, wonder or fear? Or was it both? She certainly seemed distracted by the bird. And when she came to the meal... She ate it bones and all! They weren't starving her, were they? Maybe the meals came unreliably. Hm.

He tilted his head quizzically when she commented on her understanding of Trauma Specialists, "What? Oh! No, not- The tea! I was talking about the water, there in the bowl. It's just some water I let herbs infuse with their medicinal properties, with a little honey! So it's sweet. It'll help your body heal." By the stars he was messing this up as royally as he could wasn't he?

He tilted his head the other way as she said something about great sins and the spirit of the bear? Oh boy, he got this one straight out of the loony bin, didn't he? What are sins? He deduced by her words "committing" and "punish" around it to mean something along the lines of breaking a rule.

He wanted to run away and ask Bas all the questions. He thought he was so ready for this. Nope, he was so unprepared.

He drew in a breath and looked at his supplies for redressing her wound. It could probably wait until after another couple of questions.
He turned back around to Vesper, it was a pretty name, trying to understand her more.
"What great sin have you committed? Will your old masters come by to make sure you received your punishment?" It was a stretch and he made some assumptions. He was a fighter and a healer! He was not used to these games of strategy one bit.

"Speech"

She frowned at the water as he directed her attention back to it. He expected her to consume it? She looked from it, to Ollie once more. He wasn’t much bigger than she was, but she was exhausted and weak, and the little tiny movements she had made so far had cost her. There was no way she could stop him from overpowering her if he chose to. Keeping what little dignity she had left, she held her breath and drank a fair portion of the witches brew. Hopefully enough to satisfy him. She put it back down again, ignoring the sweet after taste on her tongue. She didn’t know what it would do to her, and if he thought it would make her malleable… it didn’t really matter. She would do what he wanted anyway. Helpless, helpless. It was a state she was well accustomed to.

She huffed a soft laugh at his follow up question. The irony! But he didn’t know it. “My sin was escaping. My mother was dying, her last wish…” she remembered that scrawny, bruised and battered body. The awful, body-shaking cough. But the steel was still there, in her mothers eye. The strength Vesper knew she could never match. “I was their property, and I left.” she concluded. She looked up a little higher, almost to his eye level. “Am I your property now, Sir Oleander?”

"Speech"

Good! He watched her drink the tea, he wasn't bothered she didn't finish it. It should help ease some of the tension and anxieties, as well as help speed up the healing of her back.

Concern flitted over his pale features before he could fit them back behind a neutral mask. She was a runner all right. And the implications in her tone about asking if she was his property just now made it fairly clear that she was probably going to bolt the first chance she got. Maybe he wasn't quite a trauma surgeon now but in this case, it might do well to lead her to believe he was capable of owning her. At least until she earned her place among the ranks of Armada.

He took a page from the Warlords book as well as he could.
He nodded with a stern look in his viridian eyes.
"In a sense, here in the Armada slaves belong to the pack as a whole. My healing services are rather expensive. So the Warlord and I decided that we'll charge your previous owners the slave price. We can't have you running about with a price on your head you need to pay back. When you're all healed up you'll answer to anyone higher rank than you in the pack, and the Warlord's commands above all. Clear?" His tone was as strict as he could make it. He approached and began to unwrap the bandage over her back, intending to change the herbs and dressings underneath.

"We have eyes everywhere and we're quick to sound the alarm when a slave gets too close to the borders. We don't lose slaves to running." He tried to curl his lip over his slick canines. They weren't saber long like his fathers and Bas but they were clean, sharp, and strong.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

Ah Her life came at a price, did it? Did they think she was worth the cost he clearly poured into her in healing her? She wondered what their bitter disappointment would bring. Pain, no doubt. Lots of pain. “Understood, Sir Oleander.” She agreed. She had no choice but to do so. Perhaps… perhaps this could be a new start. She could try to prove herself, and in doing so avoid their disappointment, their anger. Avoid her mothers fate.

She filed away the tidbit about the Warlord, a fearsome name. His commands came above all else - she was familiar with that concept as well, and of doing the bidding of all. He approached, and she quickly lowered her eyes. Had she been too bold? But instead of striking her, he moved to unwrap her bandage. He was a healer he had said. He was the reason she felt little pain as it was. She had mixed feelings about that.

She bowed her head lower at his threat, waiting for him to follow it with a sample of what she would suffer if she even tried. But despite the curled lip, he didn’t bite at her. “I understand My Lo- Sir Oleander.” she said, keeping her eyes on the floor. So she would not be given back to her last owners. What could she do with this information? “If I may ask, Sir. What jobs will I be doing in the Armada?” what would she be fetching, who would she be fucking? Would this place be better or worse than her last?

"Speech"

She agreed! Good, she seemed to be amenable to his sternness! As he stepped forward to tend her, she shrank away again. He noted she averted her eyes pointedly and he was unaccustomed to such deference. He couldn't help but compare his experience with Ignita and how the fire-pelted fae still felt and behaved more like an equal to him, granted one he could order around. No, this one... Vesper... She was... Hm. He couldn't put his finger on it.

Her wound was looking a lot less inflamed, the herbs were working well and he carefully removed the bandage and layers of leaf matter on her back. He got a better look at the damage. How badly had been beaten and whipped? The bear certainly did her no favors.

He flicked an ear as she asked what jobs she would be doing. He carefully took a clean tea-soaked rag and gently wiped out her wound, he hoped he wasn't causing her more pain than necessary. He wondered what his mom would have done with a wound like this.

"There's several jobs for the slaves. Here we call the slaves Songbirds." He started as he finished the cleaning and started to apply the fresh paste he had prepared before over her wounds, "Mostly it's fetching, organizing, cleaning..." What else had he seen Iggy do? No, she had other jobs a typical slave didn't have. "Carrying things around and generally being available for whoever needs something." He had slipped into a more cordial tone while he worked, unable to be all stern, fierce, caring, and informing.

He placed the large soaked dock leaves over top of the paste and then laid fresh bandages.

He leaned back, finally done, and tidied the workspace.
"You're going to be sitting here for a while, are there other places than your back that you've been having problems with?" He asked, gathering the bowls and old bandages.

He called Jace back from whatever snack he had been nibbling and asked the raccoon to take a basket full of the supplies to be cleaned. The white bandit chattered at Ollie about being interrupted but did as he was bid. Ollie just rolled his eyes with a smirk.


"Speech"

He worked on her back, and she lay there quietly under his administration. Through it hurt, he was oddly gentle with her. She was not accustomed to being treated gently, to being touched with anything less than force. “How pretty a name” She said dryly. They could have been a little less subtle and called her a canary. Let her sing, and die first. 

Fetching and cleaning she could do. She was a little more cautious about his remark of ‘whoever needs something” she was well familiar with a male needs. He finished his work on her back, and asked if anything else was bothering her. She couldn't really answer ‘life’ now, could she? It was tempting, so tempting. She wondered what this young slave master would think of that.

Her back was the worst of it. There were old cuts in her stomach that still gave her aches, but she wasn't sure if his question was a test of sorts. She held back from volunteering it. Her little Lordling was however all she knew in this strange new pack, and she was oddly reluctant for him to leave. There was always someone worse who could walk in. “If I may ask, is this an infirmary, Sir Oleander?”

Oleander chuffed through his nose as she dryly remarked on the title of Songbirds. He had similar feelings for it, something along the lines of masking its true purpose. A pretty name for a servant's rank. But Bas had his reasons and he wasn't going to remark on it out loud to him.

"Mind the sarcasm around The Warlord." He seriously, Bas was a stoic and no-nonsense individual. And while Ollie had a penchant for grating under orders, he didn't want her to get her ass handed to her by Bas for a sly comment.

He snorted at her question if this was an infirmary, "Looks like it doesn't it? Nope, we're still building that somewhere. This is typically my room. My brother is in the other room." He had a separate bed of furs by the door he had set up for his sleeping arrangement while she occupied the room. Maybe he could ask Bas and Ignita if they could put a couple of the unused dens together to make an infirmary.

"But if you do well, and work hard to be part of The Armada, we could eventually talk about letting you gain a proper rank and your own den. What skills do you have?" He asked.


"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

“Sarcasm, my Lord?” She asked meekly before she could catch herself. She held her breath, waiting for the blow. This was why her back was a mess, her flesh more hamburger then wolf. Her damn tongue was going to be the death of her one day. 

His room? So she was to be his play thing, was she? It made sense. He did say his healing services were expensive. He'd want to get the most out of his work. He seemed less..  abrasive than most. Perhaps while she was busy entertaining him, it would buy her time before she had to work for the apparently more fearsome Warlord. Her survival instincts were often faulty, but something told her it would be a good idea to stick close to this wolf.

She was wondering what might help her keep her distance from the Warlord when his next words registered. Did they really expect the slaves to buy what they were selling? Slaves didn't get promoted into the ranks. They were bred, trained, and beaten down. What slave master would lose his profit that way? His pretty words stunk like shit. Annoyed by the false promise, she smiled at him. “My last master said the only reason they kept me alive was because I was an interesting fuck. Do you think that's a transferable skill, my Lord?” She asked. Her voice sweet as honey, a lure full of poison.

She retorted back and he narrowed his eyes at her about sarcasm. He was beginning to see why she had a few whip marks. He could absolutely see how other slavers would take such comments as insubordination. But that's not how they did things here. As far as he knew.

Her response to his question about skills confused him. Interesting fuck? What's that? He actually hadn't heard anyone say fuck around him yet as he was a sheltered kid who spent the first year of his life deliriously sick. And the way she said it didn't make sense to him. His brow visibly furrowed and wondered if it was a certain title she carried among her previous masters like she would be a songbird.

"Interesting fuck? Is that something in a different language?" He asked innocently, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION

She stared at him in astonishment, her mouth parting as she found herself speechless. Actually speechless. How sheltered was this wolf? He looked to be around the same age as her, and she had lost her innocence a long time ago.


She slowly closed her mouth and continued to stare at him. Looking him in the eyes as her shock lent her courage. How to respond? “Do you know where babies come from?” She asked, trying to see exactly how much she had to wind back to the basics for him. “Fuck is a derogatory was of describing sex. Since fuck is also a swearword…” surely he knew that much. She started again. “fuck is like when a wolf buys a pretty slave and penetrates her again, and again, and again…” her voice was so dry a desert couldn't compare. She had never, ever, found herself with such an innocent wolf before. Did that mean he DIDN'T intend to make use of his slave that way?

He took a sip of his tea as she gave him the. most. incredulous look he had ever seen in his life. He swallowed and creased his brow, trying to understand where she was going with the making babies remark.
All he knew was that girls got pregnant, boys made the girls pregnant, and there were herbs to keep them from making the babies. So technically, yeah he did know how babies were made! They had some kind of special cuddle right?

A swear word? Huh, hadn't heard anyone use it around him. He took another sip of his tea and watched her dryly present the idea to him. Penetrate?
.
.
.
Suddenly the anatomy between boys and girls made sense and he spit his tea coughing and spluttering. He walked out of the room still coughing and trying to breathe. He waved off any of Wylan's concerns until he could finally breathe again. He looked like he had seen a ghost, and his pale fur was already fairly ghostly.

He sat outside the room for a moment, processing the information fully. She had been subjected to that... without her consent... as a slave??? He took a steading breath. Nodded to his brother and whoever else was in the treehouse at the time and stepped back into the room, first to clean up the mess he made.

Finally, when he sat down he looked at her, with compassionate concern.
"That's... I'm sorry you've been subjected to that. I've never heard of that happening here. We have a law on the obelisk that says we are to show restraint, have honor and dignity, treat everyone within the Armada with respect, and not seek to harm our members." Consent had been a pillar of his upbringing with Mortis and Halo, even though he had been tended and hugged without his consent so much, there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it when he was young. Being a healer as well, it had been drilled into him to warn his patients of his doings, though he sometimes struggled to remember when it mattered.

"Speech"

He spat out his witch water and walked out. Just… walked out. If she was able to move, she might have been tempted to follow him just to see what he was doing. Was he getting a diagram from the wolves next door? She waited. And waited. She got bored staring at the ceiling and dipped a paw in the bowl he had left for her. She swirled the leaves around and then leaned forward, blowing into the water. She wasn't sure what she expected to happen, but the leaves rushed to the other side, and after a while settled again. He still hadn't come back. Maybe he was having his first fuck now that he apparently knew it was a thing.


When he returned at last, he was as pale as a ghost. Which was funny in his white fur. She hadn't even realised he could go more white. Maybe after a few weeks with her his white would turn grey.

He sat across from her, and the expression he gave her made her want to punch something. Probably him. Just because she was a victim didn't mean she was a victim. Damn. She wished that made more sense.

“That's oddly Nobel. How did you get into the Slaver business? You seem sort of new. Where I come from, you buy slaves to fuck them. Boy or girl, and to beat up when you're bored. In fact, slave on slave fights is all the rave.” She told him dryly, but his stupid big eyes were wearing on her. Damn it all to hell. “Look. I'm sorry… I could have had a little more tact. I'm sarcastic, I can't help it. The more they beat me the more that sarcasm just pops out, and the more they beat me. It's a cycle.” She nodded her nose towards her back as if to say 'you get the point…" she probably should have stopped there. A nice little peace offering. Everyone was happy. Right? "So, I take it you're a virgin?"

The naive sheltered boy got a face full of problems staring back at him. Glaring, back at him. The expression on her face gave him the distinct idea that his compassion was ill placed and if she wasn't literally regrowing the muscles in her back she probably would have given him a good hook.

He was at a loss.
He tilted his head and furrowed his brows at her as she went on about being beaten, fucked, and how the cycle kept going. He didn't know how to respond to that.

Then she pushed more and asked him if he was a virgin. He didn't know what that meant exactly but he wasn't going to let her teach him that too. It probably had to do with sex. He had bungled this enough with his loose tongue and naivety, he wasn't going to give her more fodder to throw at him until he had his feet under him better.

He got up.
"I'll let you rest. We'll talk more soon." He said, half scowling with a contemplative look. He needed to find a way to put some of the den together in the Col to make a good clinic that could hold more than just him and one patient. It was time to work with Bas on that, or whoever he dictated to help him with that.

-exit Ollie-

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle/Witchdogtor DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION