Unlike the arena slaves who killed to live, she lived to kill. Clausia took pleasure from the shedding of blood, crunching of bones, and rending of flesh. An insanely erotic grin spread over her face each time she was injured, driving fear into the heart of her opponents. Clausia truly embraced the pain, relished it, and if disappointed by the lack of pain in the arena, demanded it later from her lovers. She was frequently "borrowed" from the slave pens, smuggled out with bribes and favors by nobles whose tastes were obscure. She was used as a recipient of pain in dark ceremonies and was a favorite because of her strong will. She remained conscious far longer then most other participants. She was one of the new races, vaguely humanoid and exotic. Although scars had long perverted her true form, it was hard to tell whether they made her appearance better or worse. She had a female form but the resemblance stopped there. At times she was known to ingest certain portions of her opponents in the arena. Although the sight was gruesome and unthinkable, the crowds went wild, only encouraging her extreme behavior. She cared nothing for the infamy of the cheering audience and lived only for the pain
Esmerelda
Esmerelda had been servant to Master Zorwell for all of her fifteen years. She was lithe and possessed an intelligence that seemed above her station. He chose her to assist in nearly everything related to magic. She was the only servant who had proven able to follow his instruction with precision. She was also the only servant who understood as if she had been trained to practice magic her whole life. When he calculated a formula, she not only read the intricate symbols which represented numbers, astrological signs, and ingredients; she also was able to detect minute discrepancies in his calculations he insisted were infallible. At times she merely observed, standing a good distance away, while the wizard blew himself up or destroyed his own materials, but after many beatings for her "clumsiness" or "stupidity" she began to actually correct his mistakes when he was not watching. Every night after Zorwell collapsed, physically and mentally spent from his castings, Esmerelda slipped minute amounts of components into her pockets and carried them to her quarters. She was very careful to never mix ingredients. The tiny vials were carefully labeled with runes recognizable only to those schooled in the ways of magic. The powders likewise placed in bags and labeled. All throughout her quarters tiny fragments of mortar had been removed and the bricks loosened to conceal her stolen elements for later use. When she had all that she would need, she would be the master, and the terms of her slavery would be renegotiated.
Anise
The lottery was the worst form of torture. Every year her drunkard of a father held a drawing to see which of his daughters would be sold "for the good of the family". As near as she could tell that was the only reason he even had children. She wondered at his three wives and how they could allow him to do such things to their children. Her father was very strict and insisted they all remain virgins and carried out only light work so they would not mar their beauty. A beautiful young woman would fetch a years worth of ale at market. Anise had never seen her sisters after they had been sold. She heard them crying as they were herded on the small platform and paraded nearly nude in front of fat, sweaty buyers. She saw the men who had bought them, knew the reputations of where they were going, and wished she had the courage to do something more then stand watching while tears filled her eyes. Just before the week of the traditional lottery, Anise decided she had had enough. She left home and met up with a gang of young troublemakers who often caused riots around slave auctions. They promised her they would one day end the slave trade and she and her sisters would be free.
Drew
Drew was simple. He had only wanted simple things: a warm bed, a meal, perhaps an annual bath. He never thought about the future or the past, only the present. He never hoped for any more and was never dissatisfied. He never slept on the streets, never had to beg, never had to listen to the squall of a child or the incessant nagging of a wife (things he had heard enough of from the grousing of his master, Lord Ansk). Drew's life was predictable. He had a schedule for every day of his life predetermined by his slavery. He never had the burden of decision or the blindingly frightening concept of the unknown. Yes, life was good until the day the Lord and Lady Ansk were convicted of high treason, their bodies torn limb from limb, their belongings turned over to the Empire. The slaves were handed over to a young decadent Lord who detested slavery and insisted his slaves be granted freedom. The warm bed, hot meals, daily routine- all gone in an instant of reformation. Who was this noble to undo hundreds of years of order and law? Who was he to introduce chaos in the lives of people whose sole desire was to serve their masters? There was a reason slavery existed. The very poor served the very rich and in return were taken care of in a way they could never have otherwise afforded to.
. Cellia
After the cells were locked and most of the slaves tucked away on their separate cots nursing the day's wounds, Cellia sat against the barred doorway where she could feel the night's breeze stir her hair. She sang in an exotic, wispy voice and occasionally lifted leaves and debris with strands of magic woven by music. To the untrained eye it looked simply like leaves caught on the breeze. The desperation of being locked away and treated like a beast had almost cracked her resolve to remain inconspicuous on many occasions, especially in the arena. Many times she found herself having spent every ounce of energy, wanting nothing more then to let loose a simple muttered rhyme which would allow her to escape unscathed. Many wounds were inflicted and festered while she waited her body's own healing process to tend them. If she had used any ability other then strength and tactic, she would have been noticed and removed from the arena in a most unsavory fashion. Music was hope and she would neither reveal nor would she lose either. She had lost her freedom when her tribe had been raided and she would regain it and take revenge on the people who took her two most valued possessions: her freedom and life of her husband.
