Death before unfitness

The journey had been long, but Nao had developed calluses on his paws quite a while ago. The life of a captive in a cage didn't offer many opportunities for grooming of the intensity he'd been accustomed to in the palaces and bathhouses of the Iga territories. Lithe musculature rippled beneath silken tresses, trotting to keep up with the much larger Warlord's walking pace. He kept his mouth shut unless addressed directly, sea foam eyes drinking in the sights of the territories to which he'd been newly confined. He was somewhat surprised he had yet to be collared or marked, but they had only been here for a few scant minutes thus far- there was still plenty of time. The scent of the ocean filled his nostrils far before the familiar sound of waves lapping at sand met his auds, bringing him some small measure of comfort. He didn't remember much about his childhood home, but he did remember plenty of days spent fishing by the sea. Approaching the expansive sands of the beach, the shoreline was littered with roped off arenas and sturdily built combat dummies. It was only then that the Warlord began to speak in clipped tones that left no room for argument or question. “As a slave in the Armada, you will find your duties to be a wide variety, filling in wherever you are needed. I intend for you to work your way up into the Warrior rank eventually, so see to it that you keep with your training” the titan said without casting him more than a sidelong glance, and it had been a few hours back that Nao figured out that the man favoured directness, sincerity, and no flowery bullshit. However, the sunset dappled man couldn't help but furrow his brows and twitch his lips against the sneer that threatened to emerge. He'd heard this nonsense before- if you're a good boy and behave, you'll be rewarded, maybe you'll even earn your freedom. Look where it had gotten him, clapped in fresh new irons. He schooled his expression within a heartbeat, settling into something neutral as he nodded sharply in assent.

The pause that followed was short, but brimmed with a tension that warned of an addition to the orders. “Your first duty, and this is to be your priority for the next little while, is to whip one of my daughters into fighting shape. Support her, train her, encourage her. But, most importantly, get her to lose that weight, or I’ll be taking notches out of your hide for every kg that pushes her into obesity” the Warlord bore a rather stern expression, no trace of taunting or jesting. While a thrill tripped up his spine at the outright threat of violence, such a refreshing shift from the irksome lying and deceit of past masters, he couldn't pay it much heed in the face of the Warlord's request. This was.. not something Nao was entirely familiar with. He'd spent his days as a puppet to nobility, and before that he had been a toy for them to use and abuse as they saw fit. He was certainly no teacher, nor was he especially skilled at providing genuine support for others. "I am to be both handmaiden and trainer, Warlord-sama?" he questioned, holding most of the wariness from tone. He wanted clarification, if only for his own sake. Overstepping on account of a misunderstanding would almost certainly get him killed by the titanic man before him.