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Arcanis: Gonnes, Sons, and Treasure Runs (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 3388851" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Adventus Regis - Part 4: The Bathhouse</strong></p><p></p><p>The bathhouse was a lavish structure staffed by nearly a hundred attractive slaves. Separate bathing areas were available for both men and women. There was also a well-supplied shop, full of lotions, soaps, soft cotton towels and robes, sandals, snacks, wines and tonics.</p><p></p><p>“You may choose a slave attendant to serve you,” said Tula, ushering them into the bathhouse. She leaned in to Kham. “I got you the most attractive.”</p><p></p><p>Two female slaves arrived to usher Ilmarė and Bijoux into a separate area. </p><p></p><p>“Mind the hair,” said Ilmarė. </p><p></p><p>Bijoux’s eyes widened when she saw the blades, called strigil, that the slaves used to scrape off the massage oil. “Yes,” she added, “mind the hair.”</p><p></p><p>“No attendant is necessary for me,” said Sebastian. “I will bathe myself, thank you.”</p><p></p><p>“Well that’s a first,” said Kham. He craned his neck to look at Cal. “What about you?”</p><p></p><p>“I’ll take three slaves,” said the Ss’ressen. Three burly male slaves looked on in dismay as Cal pointed a clawed digit at each of them. “My scales need a lot of work.”</p><p></p><p>A beautiful, dark-skinned slave stepped into view. “This is Samara,” Tula said to Kham. “She will take care of you.”</p><p></p><p>The bath was soothing, but Kham couldn’t relax. His mind kept wandering back to the voice he had heard in his head, the voice that he had never heard before and hoped he would never hear again.</p><p></p><p>Kham moved on to the massage room, where Samara rubbed him down with oils. She buffed off the oils with a rough stone, leaving his skin tender.</p><p></p><p>He had seen the Yellow Sign before, in Freeport. Kham had even encountered a manifestation of the Unspeakable One. But he had never heard a voice. </p><p></p><p>Samara next massaged him with thicker, heated oil. She then began to scrape it off with a bladed strigil.</p><p></p><p>Kham lied to Sebastian. He did see the three arms of the Yellow Sign squirm towards him like the tentacles of an octopus. But it was the voice that unnerved him.</p><p></p><p>It had said, “<em>Kill them for your king</em>.” And Kham knew, with certainty, that it was the voice of Fleshripper speaking to him.</p><p></p><p>A warm liquid, warmer than the oil, was dripping onto his back. Kham turned his head to see what Samara was up to.</p><p></p><p>The beautiful slave girl stood beside the table, her eyes appearing full of loss and hopelessness. The wide, flat blade she held was drenched with blood, dripping off of it onto the tile floor, the massage table, and Kham’s back. Her left arm was held outward and upon the bare forearm there were two very deep cuts, radiating out from a gash at the inside of her elbow. </p><p></p><p>“What in Althares…” said Kham, spinning onto his back.</p><p></p><p>She lifted the strigil again to her arm, pushing it bone deep into her flesh without so much as flinching. Before Kham could react, she began to lower the blade of the strigil, carving a third deep cut into her flesh.</p><p></p><p>Kham backpedaled off the table, only to slip in her blood and the oil, slapping to the ground. It stunned him. He yelped from the pain and shock, and then struggled to his feet.</p><p></p><p>Samara raised the strigil over her arm again. Kham grabbed her by the wrists. “Stop that!”</p><p></p><p>Her hands went limp. The strigil dropped to the cold stone of the floor with a clatter.</p><p></p><p>Sebastian skidded into the room, a towel around his waist. His forked tail flicked in agitation behind him. “What’s wrong?”</p><p></p><p>Kham didn’t have to explain. The blood streaming from her arm had mingled with the oils on the floor, turning the scene into a sanguine-colored nightmare. </p><p></p><p>“Here,” said Sebastian, grabbing a towel from a shelf on the wall. It was then that Kham noticed just how jagged and yellow Sebastian’s claws were. Suddenly, he understood why the dark-kin always wore gloves. “This should help stop the--”</p><p></p><p>He never finished. Samara became frantic, thrashing madly at Sebastian. Kham got something in his eyes. He touched his face to wipe it away, only to discover Samara’s blood on his fingertips.</p><p></p><p>Sebastian was slammed against the table. Samara began to wail. </p><p></p><p>“Let me die!” she screamed. “Just let me die! It’ll be better this way! I beg you, show pity. I didn’t hurt the man, only myself! Please, let me die!”</p><p></p><p>Sebastian shook his head to try to focus. “This is madness,” he said. Then he pointed at Samara with open palms. “<span style="font-family: 'Impact'">Fuco aspergo!</span>”</p><p></p><p>A coruscating cone of colors beamed from his hands into Samara. She shrieked once more, and then collapsed to the ground.</p><p></p><p>“Finally,” said Sebastian. He looked over at Kham. “Are you all right?”</p><p></p><p>“I-I’ll be fine,” said Kham. But he would not be fine ever again, for Samara had shrieked something else.</p><p></p><p>“Not upon us, oh King,” she said. “Not upon us!”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 3388851, member: 3285"] [b]Adventus Regis - Part 4: The Bathhouse[/b] The bathhouse was a lavish structure staffed by nearly a hundred attractive slaves. Separate bathing areas were available for both men and women. There was also a well-supplied shop, full of lotions, soaps, soft cotton towels and robes, sandals, snacks, wines and tonics. “You may choose a slave attendant to serve you,” said Tula, ushering them into the bathhouse. She leaned in to Kham. “I got you the most attractive.” Two female slaves arrived to usher Ilmarė and Bijoux into a separate area. “Mind the hair,” said Ilmarė. Bijoux’s eyes widened when she saw the blades, called strigil, that the slaves used to scrape off the massage oil. “Yes,” she added, “mind the hair.” “No attendant is necessary for me,” said Sebastian. “I will bathe myself, thank you.” “Well that’s a first,” said Kham. He craned his neck to look at Cal. “What about you?” “I’ll take three slaves,” said the Ss’ressen. Three burly male slaves looked on in dismay as Cal pointed a clawed digit at each of them. “My scales need a lot of work.” A beautiful, dark-skinned slave stepped into view. “This is Samara,” Tula said to Kham. “She will take care of you.” The bath was soothing, but Kham couldn’t relax. His mind kept wandering back to the voice he had heard in his head, the voice that he had never heard before and hoped he would never hear again. Kham moved on to the massage room, where Samara rubbed him down with oils. She buffed off the oils with a rough stone, leaving his skin tender. He had seen the Yellow Sign before, in Freeport. Kham had even encountered a manifestation of the Unspeakable One. But he had never heard a voice. Samara next massaged him with thicker, heated oil. She then began to scrape it off with a bladed strigil. Kham lied to Sebastian. He did see the three arms of the Yellow Sign squirm towards him like the tentacles of an octopus. But it was the voice that unnerved him. It had said, “[I]Kill them for your king[/I].” And Kham knew, with certainty, that it was the voice of Fleshripper speaking to him. A warm liquid, warmer than the oil, was dripping onto his back. Kham turned his head to see what Samara was up to. The beautiful slave girl stood beside the table, her eyes appearing full of loss and hopelessness. The wide, flat blade she held was drenched with blood, dripping off of it onto the tile floor, the massage table, and Kham’s back. Her left arm was held outward and upon the bare forearm there were two very deep cuts, radiating out from a gash at the inside of her elbow. “What in Althares…” said Kham, spinning onto his back. She lifted the strigil again to her arm, pushing it bone deep into her flesh without so much as flinching. Before Kham could react, she began to lower the blade of the strigil, carving a third deep cut into her flesh. Kham backpedaled off the table, only to slip in her blood and the oil, slapping to the ground. It stunned him. He yelped from the pain and shock, and then struggled to his feet. Samara raised the strigil over her arm again. Kham grabbed her by the wrists. “Stop that!” Her hands went limp. The strigil dropped to the cold stone of the floor with a clatter. Sebastian skidded into the room, a towel around his waist. His forked tail flicked in agitation behind him. “What’s wrong?” Kham didn’t have to explain. The blood streaming from her arm had mingled with the oils on the floor, turning the scene into a sanguine-colored nightmare. “Here,” said Sebastian, grabbing a towel from a shelf on the wall. It was then that Kham noticed just how jagged and yellow Sebastian’s claws were. Suddenly, he understood why the dark-kin always wore gloves. “This should help stop the--” He never finished. Samara became frantic, thrashing madly at Sebastian. Kham got something in his eyes. He touched his face to wipe it away, only to discover Samara’s blood on his fingertips. Sebastian was slammed against the table. Samara began to wail. “Let me die!” she screamed. “Just let me die! It’ll be better this way! I beg you, show pity. I didn’t hurt the man, only myself! Please, let me die!” Sebastian shook his head to try to focus. “This is madness,” he said. Then he pointed at Samara with open palms. “[FONT="Impact"]Fuco aspergo![/FONT]” A coruscating cone of colors beamed from his hands into Samara. She shrieked once more, and then collapsed to the ground. “Finally,” said Sebastian. He looked over at Kham. “Are you all right?” “I-I’ll be fine,” said Kham. But he would not be fine ever again, for Samara had shrieked something else. “Not upon us, oh King,” she said. “Not upon us!” [/QUOTE]
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