It was quiet. So quiet. The only thing she could hear was her own heart beat and the sound of her stomach growling and rumbling endlessly even though there was nothing she could do to quiet it short of eating her own leg. The chains wrapped tightly around her neck and forelegs had worn painful sores into her skin from where she had attempted to pull free of them time and time again to no avail. Her skin was stretched over her frail frame, her bones on display through her once striking coat. Now it was dull and worn, small patches of it missing from past wounds that hadn't healed nicely. Everything ached from laying on the hard ground of the cave she was trapped in.

She stared across the empty cave, sunlight just barely reaching where she was laying. How long had it been since they left? She had lost track and now it was a hopeless endeavor to even try to guess. She kept willing herself to die, to finally let her be free of all of this, but each day that passed she opened her eyes and found that she was still alive. When the slave masters went to move their camp they couldn't take them all with them, too many of the slavers gone or killed for one reason or another. It made it impossible for them to transport all of their slaves so they took the best with them and abandoned the rest. For the first few days she could hear other women in other parts of the cave, but now all those noises were gone, she was the last one left it seemed. And yet for some reason life wouldn't let her go.

"Iris"

Word of the slaver camp had gotten around. It had been a while since Sirius had made use of such things, but now he found himself in need. Soon, Deathbelle would be joining the Armada, with her children in tow. When she arrived, he wished for her to find comfort and relaxation. A new beginning. There was a temporary den they could reside in temporarily, and together they could build their own home. Something that was wholly theirs, together. The temporary den was big enough for Deathbelle, her kids, and of course the handmaiden he would be acquiring today. He needed someone calm and gentle natured. Obedient, and skilled at healing and washing.

He had precious metals and artifacts taken from the Daager Isle. He wasn’t bringing them along with him today, he had simply cataloged them before going on to see the merchandise and enquire at the prices.

He made his way to the cave, and found the scents of the slavers faded, and the place quiet. Frowning, he ventured inside, the scent of decay hitting him. He wrinkled his nose, and his eyes found the body of a dead slave. He moved towards it and nudged the body with his paw, judging those that had left for the mess they had left behind.

What he had expected, was for the bag of bones to move after nudging it. ...alive? he knelt down beside the creature. She was tied by her neck and paw, and her ribs stuck through her tattered coat. She was not in any way or form the type of slave he had come here to purchase. She reeked of desperation, but his pickings were slim. “Are you coherent?”

"Sirius Fatalis"

The sound of paw steps broke the oppressive silence and her breath caught in her throat. Dull orchid eyes lifted from where her head was resting on the ground, a large figure blocking out the sunlight that filtered in from the opening of the cave. Her vision was blurry and she tried to blink away the dryness that had taken over her eyes so that she might make out more features of whoever this was, but it was difficult. By the time she was able to actually put together that this was a man he was on top of her, a massive paw nudging her. Instinctively she tried to shift away from his touch, her ears folding back against her skull, quietly wishing that she could suddenly drop dead then and there to prevent whatever this male wanted her for. She couldn't tell if he was one of the slavers that had come back to get whoever was left or not, but either way his presence made her heart race.

He questioned her, asking if she was coherent and reluctantly she lifted her head. She wasn't able to lift it all the way, the heavy chain weighing her down and rubbing against the open sores on her skin. Her eyes lifted up to his face, pink-hued eyes finding blue. "Yes," she managed in a hoarse whisper, her throat raspy and dry from lack of water and lack of use. She looked at him from his height that towered over her own to the long, imposing fangs that emerged from his lip and wondered to herself why fate continued to test her, continued to throw her into these situations. Not a single step of her life had been easy and as much as she wished for it to end she wasn't allowed that relief. She looked up at him warily, equally uncertain of him and exhausted from the neglect she was subjected to.

"Speech"

He nodded his head briskly, like that was that. He did not yet know if this woman would be the right fit for his pack, but he was not leaving her behind. He hadn’t decided what he might do with her if she wasn’t the right fit - give her some supplies and send her on her way, perhaps. The Warlord could be unreasonable, but he still had some lines left.

He knelt beside her and placed a paw over her chained ankle. Testing the strength of it with a tug. Good metal. The Warlord was not strong enough to simply break the chains. Not without a great deal of effort, and likely a lot of pain to the girl. He turned his attention next to the stake. Here he would have better luck. He hooked the chain so it ran from the ground, over his back, and then towards the girl. “I will try not to put any pressure on you, but brace yourself” He hooked his fangs and paw through a loop, and began to heave.

The stake began to lift from the ground, and then pulled free suddenly. He just about toppled backwards onto the girl at the lack of resistance, but caught himself just on time. “You can not walk, not as far as we need to go. Not in the state you're in.” He turned back to her. The chains still dug into her coat, but he would have more time and space to deal with them back at home. In fact, he was pretty sure Mort’s Kea would have better luck then he would. ”I’m going to carry you” he warned.


"Sirius Fatalis"

The nod of finality he gave confused her, but she didn't have the strength or gumption to question him. With out the slave masters here to sell her she supposed he was just picking up their scraps, taking her for himself since she was free for the taking. His paw on her ankle where the chains had worn into her made her tense - both because of the simple fact that he was touching her and because of the sharp pain the slight movement of the chain caused. There were places where the chain had begun to embed into her skin and the tug against those places was agonizing. She watched as he turned toward the stake that was buried in the ground that had kept her here all this time, seemingly preparing to pull it free. He confirmed this by telling her to brace herself.

She grit her teeth as he heaved and yanked the stake from the ground, the shaking and jostling of her chains enough to make a heavy wave of pain settle over her. She refused to scream, though she wasn't certain she'd be able to even if she tried. Her vision swam and she nearly blacked out by the time he was done, but eventually she was free, the chains now dangling uselessly from her thin frame. She was breathing heavily as she brought her eyes weakly up to his again, listening to his voice that seemed distant as he told her how she wouldn't be able to walk the distance they needed to go and that he would carry her. She gave him a small nod, quietly deciding that there was no use fighting it. She wasn't sure she could stand much less walk and he clearly wasn't going to leave without her now so she put her energy into not passing out as she was swept away to where ever he might be taking her.

"Speech"

Laying the chain over his back had been in an attempt to stabilize it some. He knew he hadn’t succeeded very well by the painful sounds of her breathing. He felt... regret as he looked at this willowed, wasted creature. This wasn’t how a wolf was supposed to treat their slaves. This wasn’t what their life should be. He wasn’t a revolutionary, he wouldn’t pledge his life to some silly cause like fighting for freedom of slaves. All he would do was claim those he decided were his and ensure they had the enrichment he believed right for them.

He shook his head again, and then approached her. She looked wasted away, her eyes barely able to focus. Luckily, she was a small thing. He ducked his head down, sweeping it under her as he heaved her onto his back. Then he would begin the journey. Longer for the weight he carried.

Once he arrived in the Armada, he took her directly to the den he had set aside for Deathbelle. It lay empty and vacant for now. A reminder of what was missing in his heart. He placed the girl down on one of the soft bedding and dug into the small supply catche he had left for Deathbelle. “Eat, drink.” he commanded “Do you know anything of healing?’ he had started to stock this den (with advice from healers) with supplies for Deathbelle, who had always had a natural inclination for the arts.


"Sirius Fatalis"

The journey was a long one and fuzzy in her mind for the most part. The pain from her chains became a dull, lingering ache, her nerves no longer able to keep up with the constant presence of the pain as she was moved and shifted with each of the man's steps. At certain points she did black out for moments, waking up again and again to find herself still on the stranger's back with the scenery changing as they moved further and further away from where she had been captured. At some point she became aware of the scent of a pack around her as they moved through a grassy plain and then he carried her into a den. She obviously hadn't known what to expect, but the soft bedding that she was placed onto was a surprise.

She blinked as she looked down at the bedding under her paws, still not quite able to catch her breath while her heart continued to pound in an effort to keep her alive for a little while longer. Her toes flexed over the fur under them, her brow creasing with confusion. She had never been given bedding like this to sleep on. At most she might have been given some dried grasses or straw, but plush furs... He shoved some food and water at her as he rummaged through some things around the den and her eyes widened as her desperate stomach gurgled and growled in response. She gratefully lapped up some of the water before chewing away a piece of the meat, savoring the first taste of food she had been given in far longer than she could possibly even count. She hadn't been fed well even before she was abandoned and with no way to free herself she had just continued to starve.

She still kept her pink gaze on him uncertainly as he moved, still trying to decipher what he wanted from her or why he had brought her here. "Yes," she replied between bites of food when he questioned if she knew anything about healing. "The master that raised me taught me... to make me more easy to sell." A marketable skill. She hadn't known that's what it was when she was a pup trying to appease her master in some vain attempt to lessen her punishments, but that's what it had been. She had been grateful for the knowledge later in life, but it had been hard earned.

"Speech"

When he glanced back at the lightly-blue accented wolf, he found her mesmerized by the bedding he had placed her onto. Intended for Deathbelle and her children, it was from the thick, comfortable coat of a sheep. He stood silent a moment as she appreciated first that - and then the food and drink he had provided. She had been hard used, even before being abandoned. That kind of skeletal frame didn’t come from one dosing of starvation.

“Good.” He said gruffly, pushing away the feeling of possessiveness and the rage that something that was now his had been so sorely abused. He had no room in his heart left to care for another creature. He had his hands full with what he had already. She was here to fulfil a purpose. Getting soft over her would only ruin the use.

“There are herbs here, can you point me to the ones we will need to treat you?” he said, tilting the bag towards her so she could see inside. “Ah, good” this was to the Kea who fluttered into the den to answer the summons Marshal had delivered. “Take a look at these chains, won't you?” The Kea obediently hopped over, her sharp curved beak questing at the slaves confinement.

"Sirius Fatalis"

Iris looked into the bag that was offered to her as she finished up the piece of meat she was given, the meal feeling heavy in her stomach after having it be empty for so long. For a second she wondered why he was offering all these things to her, feeding her, letting her treat her wounds, but then she remembered that she wouldn't be much use to him if she was dead. Even if it was just out of necessity it was still a kindness she wasn't used to and she was taken aback by it, looking between him and the herbs uncertainly for a moment, feeling like there must be some sort of catch.

Orchid eyes scanned the herbs, giving him a small nod. "The meadowsweet... with the little white flowers, and the dandelion root. A small piece of the trillium with some water to dilute it and the horsetail... That should be good enough." She had just begun chewing the piece of meadowsweet she was given when a bird appeared, the man directing it toward the chain that was still hung on her. She winced and braced herself against the pain of it as the bird started to work at them, grateful for the fact that she had the pain killer in her system that would hopefully kick in sooner rather than later so the work wouldn't be quite so excruciating.

She tried to keep her mind off of it, instead working on chewing up the trillium leaves and mixing it with a bowl of water while they worked at her chains to get her free. "What should I call you?" she asked him quietly with a glance. She had never been owned by someone that wanted to be called by their name so she had learned not to ask for it, but some preferred "master" or "sir" or some other form of title. Some preferred not to be spoken to at all, though she didn't get the sense that he was in that group.

"Speech"

He grabbed out the pieces as she requested them, passing them over. He grabbed another flask of water, and a dish, so she could dilute the trillium as desired. In this, he was acting as assistant as his knowledge of healing was enough only to get someone off the battlefield.

She began to chew one of the herbs, she seemed quiet and obedient. She had not asked a single question about who he was or what he wanted from her. He could only assume someone had beat inquisitiveness out of her. He did not want a mindless slave, but someone willing to think for themselves. With luck, perhaps she would begin to show some initiative.

The Kea’s clever beak, often used for mischief, began to unlock the chain that bound her. Sirius had stood in silence until she broke it with her question. He glanced at her soft lilac eyes, and thought to himself that perhaps there might still be a little spirit left in her yet. Just a spark. “Sirius, or Warlord, as my people call me. You are one of my people now, little one. You are in the Armada, here you will adhere to our rules, and we will be fair to you.” He promised her. He would coach her on how to care for Deathbelle later. First, he needed to get her into a condition fitting of serving his Phoenix.


"Sirius Fatalis"

Iris waited while the bird picked at the lock, knowing that it had to be done and there was no choice but to sit and bear it so that she could finally be free of them. She listened as the man introduced himself - Sirius the Warlord. He did give her a title, but not before he gave her his name first. After a life time of being a servant in some capacity there were subtle traits about her masters that she had learned to look for. Whether or not they allowed her to call them by their name was a noticeable one. The fact that he made getting her out of these chains and letting her have the treatments she needed a priority was another. Whether it was just out of necessity to keep her alive for whatever purpose he wanted her for or for some other reason entirely didn't matter. It was a kindness she didn't often receive and that was enough for her to take notice. She gave him a small nod of understanding before she glanced down at the herbs at her paws once more to continue preparing them for once her chains were gone.

Soon enough she felt them loosen and slip away once the lock was undone and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief, closing her eyes for a moment just to enjoy the fact that she could lift her head again without it being utterly painful. "Thank you," she told them softly before she went to work treating her wounds, washing the open skin around her legs with the trillium infused water before spreading a thin layer of the crushed dandelion root across it. She glanced up at Sirius while she worked, still internally trying to make sense of him. A massive brute who could clearly be deadly with Warlord as a title that was willing to scoop up a half dead woman to bring her back here and nurse her back to health. There were plenty of women in the world, plenty of slaves. Even if the slavers had moved their camp, surely they weren't that hard to find. So why her? Why spend the effort and resources to save her?

"What are the rules you would like for me to follow?" she questioned, knowing it was better to know the lines she needed to follow early to prevent any unnecessary slip ups or punishments. She was still apprehensive of him and still expecting the worst, but that was all she had ever known. Every male she had ever met had only meant pain and abuse so the fact that he hadn't equalled that yet for her threw her off and made her skeptical.

"Speech"

He inclined his head in acknowledgement to her thanks, seating himself opposite her as he watched her work. There were some nasty cuts where the chains had dug into her, but he had a feeling that the worst parts of her were the starvation. It would take a while for that to come right. Steady meals, good cuts of red meat. She wouldn’t be perfect by the time that Deathbelle arrived, but she would look a little less abused.

She continued to find her question, perhaps a little courage returning as the pain meds kicked in. “You will be a handmaiden to another wolf.” what was Deathbelle to him? A lover? A mate? His childhood friend, his future wife? He hadn’t nailed down exactly what yet, and left it out. “Someone very important to me. You will be responsible for washing her paws and caring for her coat. You will see to her needs, and perhaps offer her companionship. In return, you will be well fed, your bed will be comfortable, and no harm will come to you here.” they weren’t rules, per say, but it was to be the new course of her life.

"Sirius Fatalis"

She listened with skepticism and disbelief when he explained how she would be a handmaiden, caring for a woman and being her companion. She expected more, waited for him to give her some sort of catch or exception, some kind of trade off for this life of comfort in comparison to the life she had previously been living. Wash a lady's paws, keep her coat clean, keep her company and in exchange she was given food, a bed, and she wouldn't be hurt. Not only was it the most pleasant job she had ever been given, but she wouldn't have to serve a brute and that alone put her more at ease. She looked at him wish confusion for a moment, but when he never took it back or added any more tasks that were more along the lines of what she had been expecting her shoulders started to relax slightly and she gave him a nod. "Yes, sir. Thank you." She wouldn't question it out of fear that he might change his mind, quietly accepting the tasks laid out for her.

She finished treating her legs, sealing up the wounds with horsetail. That only left the wounds around her neck and she did her best to blindly rinse them clean, her blue-hued paws gingerly feeling across the wounds that had opened up around the top of her neck behind her ears and jaw. It wasn't her best work since she couldn't see the sores, but it would be good enough to keep them from getting infected. She applied the dandelion as well, but when it came to pressing the wound together with horse tail she could manage the wounds across her throat and behind her jaw, but the back of her neck was a little too far out of reach. She glanced up at Sirius uncertainly, swallowing back her nerves. "Warlord, would you mind helping me with the back of my neck? This just needs to be spread across the edges of the torn skin and then press them together."

"Speech"

She took it all in stride. Perhaps she was accustomed to her life being upturned at the drop of a hat. She accepted the job he gave her without complaint, and continued to tend to her wounds. Despite what she had been through, her paws seemed steady and confident as she applied the herbs. She was well familiar with what she was doing. That would come in handy, but he wondered how often she had tended to her wounds in the past. He hadn't called upon his healer because he had not wished to crowd her, but perhaps that had been a mistake.

"Of course, little one" he said. He wasn't the least bit squeamish, and move around to the side of her so he could work without leaning over her front. He mimicked what he had seen her doing, smearing the herbs and pulling the skin together again. His paws were large, and made more for hurting then killing, but he made care to be gentle in his movements. "Do you have a name, little one?" He asked to distract her from the feeling of another pressing at her open sores. Of course, Deathbelle would also need something more to call her by then 'little one'. She preferred to be loved then feared by her slaves, and he would try to steer this one in the right direction before Deathbelle arrived and took over ownership of her.

She laid still while Sirius came over to help finish closing up her wounds, trying her best to not flinch or tense too much under his touch. She was hyper aware of his presence beside her even though he hadn't done anything yet that would make her think that he would hurt her. It was just difficult to combat years of abuse with logic. She tried to just focus on other things instead like the sting of her open skin as he applied the herbs and closed the edges together, gritting her teeth from the aching pressure it caused. It was necessary and she would never complain, but that didn't make it pleasant.

He continued to call her "little one" which was surprisingly endearing. She had been called many things - slave, girl, bitch, servant - but "little one" was a new one. Very rarely did the men that purchased her ask for her name, but that's what he did while he was tending to her, making her glance back at him with genuine surprise. Looking back at the fur between her paws, her ears flicked back shyly. "It's Iris, sir," she replied after a moment. "But you can call me whatever you'd prefer."

"Speech"

There was a moment of silence, and he glanced over to see what the delay was, and found the surprise in her eyes. Astonishment, really. Disbelief. He gritted his teeth and pulled the last bit of skin a little more roughly then he had intended. Dammit. He didn't need more attachments in his life. Another life to worry about, but it happened anyway. Against his better judgment he felt rage boil in his stomach. They had hurt this girl, truly hurt her. Emotionally, mentally, physically. Dammit, but she was HIS.

"Iris is a fine name" he said, softening his voice on purpose. He tossed down the excess of herbs and turned from her abruptly, annoyed at himself. "When will your wounds be well enough for physical labor, little Iris?" He asked as he began to pack away the herbs, tossing them into the bag and leaving them within her reach.

Iris winced as he pressed harder on her injuries than he had before her answer, her toes curling to grip the fur until the wave of pain it caused faded. Worry flared in her gut, concerned that she might have done something to upset him. She was always so careful about how she acted or spoke, but perhaps offering alternatives besides her name made him upset. She watched him uncertainly as he assured her that Iris was a good name. It was almost strange to hear someone call her by her name again. How long had it been? Had anyone besides the brute that had "raised" her called her by her name? She couldn't remember. It sounded softer coming from Sirius, nicer in a way.

Her ears folded back as he turned away, seeing the tension in his shoulders and the aggravation on his features. She wondered if asking for his help had been a mistake, but if it was then why would he have done it? He was so unlike the other males that had owned her so her usual gage of what was right and wrong was skewed and uncertain. In a strange way she almost wished he would hit her or bite her or something more tangible, something she was used to. At least then she would know if she was right or wrong rather than feel like she was in this limbo, just waiting for him to punish her. It never occurred to her that she might not be the source of his annoyance or that he wouldn't take out his frustrations on her regardless of the cause.

When he asked about how long it would take for her to be ready for "physical labor" her mind immediately jumped to conclusions, her body tensing and her heart beating nervously in her chest. There was only one kind of physical labor that she had ever been used for, though she had never had someone call it that and she had also never had anyone ask. She had only ever been taken from, never given to and the concept of consent wasn't something she had ever considered. Her fuchsia gaze shifted back down to the space between her paws, feeling like a fool for thinking that he would be any different just because he treated her kindly. "I can start now if you need, Warlord," she replied, her voice soft and hollow. "My wounds won't interfere. If I could ask that you not bite my scruff that would be preferable... Only to not waste more herbs."

"Speech"

He finished placing the bag aside and turned back to her. Her eyes were on her paws, and she did not sound thrilled at the idea. At least she was willing, it was a start. Even if ‘willing’ was only as far as doing whatever she was told. He would take what he could get. It would be easier for her to find her spine once she realised she had the power to fight back.

“Don’t be absurd” he said, falling to his hunches as he looked at her. “You're in no condition to start today, and it wouldn’t be pleasant for you at all.” not with those cuts up her leg and across her neck. Every movement must hurt. The stretching and quick movements required in a spar would certainly open them up again - and then her attention would be on the pain, and not the lesson.

“And I wont bite your scruff if you stop me.” That was somewhat the point of the training. ”For now, your only job is to rest and sleep. I’ll fetch you in the morning and we can do some stretches to see what will pull your injuries.” That should hopefully tell them how far off training would be. He did not want to leave it long. Ideally he would have started her today. There is more food on the shelf to the bottom right behind you if you're hungry. Are you comfortable sleeping in here alone? Or I can send in my cat to offer you some comfort” Bast was always a gentle creature, and warm to snuggle as well. His children had often made use of that.

"Sirius Fatalis"

She wasn't entirely surprised when he turned down the offer, though she was grateful. She couldn't imagine that she was appealing right now with the state her body was in, but she had seen men take women that were in a worse state than herself. When he mentioned how it wouldn't be pleasant for her she glanced up at him with a bit of confusion. When had any male ever concerned themselves with sex being pleasant for their slaves? Was this part of this unusual kindness he was displaying to her? Then he said how he'd only bite her scruff if she didn't stop him and she just looked at him absolutely befuddled by what he was saying. Stop him? She... had a choice to stop him?

Now he was talking about rest and sleep and stretches... Stretches? For what?! Sure, he was a big wolf, but... What would stretches do? She barely paid attention to him telling her where more food was located because she was too confused by his statements, but what she did pay attention when he asked her if she would be okay to sleep alone. She glanced around, not seeing any chains or ropes, the door to the den didn't seem to have any bars or door of any kind to go over it. He was just going to leave her here? Unrestrained? For a moment she just looked at him as if he had grown another head. Nothing he had done so far made sense in her mind compared to all of her other experiences and it broke the quiet shell she usually tried to wear.

"I... I mean I'm fine sleeping alone, I just... I've never not been restrained before if I'm left alone. You... You'd let me sleep alone? Also, um... What exactly are you going to get me for in the morning? Are you... Is the physical work you're talking about not..." She was baffled. Absolutely baffled. "You're not going to... use me?" Was that direct enough for him? She honestly didn't know at this point. He was a conundrum that she didn't know how to solve.

"Speech"

She was staring at him in such a manner that he had to wonder if she had lost her ability to understand their language. When she spoke again, it was to truly show her befuddlement. He gave her a light, amused smile. “I can chain you if you think it’ll make you more comfortable.” He suggested in dry amusement.

Then, just when he thought they had been on the same page with training, she admitted to having no idea what he was talking about. Asking what he was fetching her for and asking if she was going to be used. “You are referring to… sex?” he asked, blinking in surprise. “Is that what you are often used for? No. No, I am talking about learning self defence, Iris of the Armada. In my pack, you will learn how to defend yourself.” Did she truly think he was going to just… turn around and mount her battered and abused body? He shook his head in disbelief. The Slavers hadn’t wanted functional wolves, they were happy to break them, and just replace them with another. Wasteful ignorant bastards. He wished he could get his claws into them.

"Sirius Fatalis"