Tempting Circumstances [SomethingSecret & kittybby]

[SomethingSecret]

Hushed tones filled the air in the warm firelight of Castle Tewke's great hall as its ruler, Baron Ricard Albrecht, reclined in the throne-like seat of the gathering room. A procession of individuals, all chained, stood before him, as many soldiers clad in chainmail and wielding weapons of steel watched over the crowd of prisoners, who wore a variety of clothes of different quality. Those watching within the stone walls of the room eyed the group with some suspicion, none more so than the Baron himself, who spoke to a mouse-like man standing just beside him who was similarly clad in elegant robes, a burnt orange which clashed with the elegant purple of Ricard's own garb. Ricard's wife, Mariah, was standing opposite of the mouse-like man on the Baron's other side, with folded hands and wearing a simple green dress and a silver locket along her neck which help to contrast against her naturally dark hair. The Baron's hair by contrast was short, sandy-brown, and was adorned with a laurel at present.

"Yes, you see your lordship? I have brought you many new hands to help run your estate..."

Ricard stroked his chin, eyeing the old man in front of him.

"Yes," Ricard said. "I suppose he would make for a good serf. Most of them would, wouldn't they? How terribly uninteresting..."

The other man's eyes widened slightly at this. "B-but of course his lordship, triumphant over the Westlands, will remember when Alan of Farborough gave such useful gifts..."

Ricard rolled his eyes. "Perhaps. You have my gratitude, Sir. Now, I must see to... inspecting... your generous gifts..."

"O-oh, of course my lord..."

The Baron pored his eyes over the old man, noting the callouses on his hands but also the slouch of his back, as a soldier clad in a fine tabard with the white griffin's crest and a laurel atop his steel helmet stood at the ready to dispense with the man. At last, with a wave of his hand, Ricard said: "Take him away to work with the cooks. He'll be no good in the field. Now..."

With a bored wave of his hand, he urged the next prisoner forward...

 

[kittybby]

The chains binding Lydia's hands to each other rattled as she attempted to twist her narrow wrists out of the cuffs shackled around them. In the middle of the short chain between her wrists, another chain was linked on, connecting to the one locked around her slender waist. Additionally, there was another chain serving as a lead that was resting in the hand of a brutish guard sat beside Lydia in the carriage. He yanked on the chain to get her to cease her fidgeting. "Quit it, girl." He spat. "Trying to work your way out of those isn't going to get you anything but a beating.

She glared at him for a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh and turning to face away from him with her hands wresting in his lap. She knew his threat was empty. It wasn't exactly ideal to deliver a new servant all battered and bruised when she was supposed to be a peace offering of sorts. Lydia was from a small territory called Hoterra that had managed to peacefully rest in the valley between two kingdoms, Tweke and Farborough, for many years. Unfortunately for them, a new ruler had recently risen to power and decided to pillage Hoterra for what little it was worth in order to expand his own land.

Since taking over Hoterra left Lydia's captor sharing a border with Ricard's land, the newly appointed Lord decided it would be best to offer up the people of Hoterra as servants to him as an olive branch to his new neighbor. Which meant Lydia and all of the others that had been inhabiting the small forest village had been swept up and transported to Tweke against their will. She wasn't happy about it in the slightest, but there wasn't much she could really do about it.

There were a couple of kingdoms presenting their offerings to the Baron of Tweke that afternoon, so the manor was bustling with activity as the carriage Lydia rode in rolled to a stop in front of it. The guard accompanying Lydia roughly ushered her out of the carriage, and one of the staff members of the Tweke residence approached them to escort them to the throne room.

As they waited in line to approach the Baron, Lydia glanced around at the other unfortunate souls in line with her. The crop of people in the room was diverse, and she started to notice that she was a bit dressed up compared to some of the others. This was presumably to make her stand out amongst the others; essentially wrapping her up in pretty packaging to make her more appealing. Her lithe frame was dressed in a deep blue velvet gown with swirling details embroidered in gold thread along the neckline, which swept below her shoulders exposing the light coating of freckles that dusted them. The design also bordered the hems of the sleeves, and wrapping around the waist of it. The outfit hugged her torso nicely, with a golden ribbon cinching up the back. Once the fabric reached her hips, the fabric flowed loosely around her legs, brushing the floor as she walked. Her long, pale blond hair flowed down to her waist in soft waves. The front strands were pinned back, to keep it out of her face.

The guard lead her along, holding steady to the chain attached to Lydia as they were lead through the corridors of the large estate. The would eventually come to a large room with a line of people waiting before who she could only assume to be Lord Ricard and his wife. She hadn't been told much about them, the truth of her new reality wasn't sugarcoated in the slightest. While it wasn't really ideal to be kidnapped from your home and forced to work for someone against your will, what exactly was she supposed to do about it now?

Despite the amount of people in the room, it was fairly silent aside from the lull of the Baron's conversation at the front of the line. Slowly, he inspected each of his new servants one by one. Eventually the time came for Lydia's turn, and the guard beside her ushered her forward with a nudge in the small of her back with the hilt of the sword he was holding. "Behave." He growled lowly in her ear so that only she could hear. She hadn't exactly made it easy on them when they had taken her captive, and they weren't too fond of her attitude.

 

[SomethingSecret]

Ricard watched as his soldiers dragged the next prisoner forward, eyeing her with the same disinterest with which he viewed the old man he had just sent away. A keener eye would notice, however, that his eyes wandered up and down her body, sizing her up more seriously than he had any of the other prisoners up to this point. She seemed a bit thin—to be expected of one of her status, he supposed—but the gown was well-adorned, including a gold ribbon, which he only noticed when she whipped around at the touch of her soldiers. Slowly, he sat up in his throne, turning to Alan of Farborough.

"Ah, I see," he said. "Tell me, Alan, is every whore of Horteror or whatever-the-hell-it's-called so finely dressed? Or did you do that?" Ricard looked back to the woman. "Never mind. Let's see what you've brought me."

Noting her reaction, which Ricard suspected was likely to not be well-received given her resistance to the guards, Ricard then stood from his seat, ever-so-slowly approaching the woman, shorter than him in stature, yet Ricard wondered if the height of her spirit was on more equal footing. All the same, eventually he was face to face with her, refusing to touch her, yet no more than a few feet from her now. His wife was watching with a particularly keen interest as he neared her.

"You must be thinking of a thousand ways to escape at this moment," he said. "You'll find that's impossible, sadly. You're a girl of more than passing beauty, I must confess, but I'm left wondering a question, if you'd be so kind as to entertain me." Ricard watched her movements, beginning to slowly pace, stroking his chin as he did so.

"What is the value of a slave girl?" he asked, after a brief silence. "A man such as myself need not wonder his worth. It is written in the faces of the conquered, the gold I hoard like a dragon, and the men who eagerly serve at my command. Were I to die here at this very moment, there would be many who would remember Ricard Albrecht, Lord of the duchy of Tewke. But you?"

Ricard walked up to her, ensuring she was restrained as he clenched her chin in his gloved fingers, tipping her head up to look at him. His eyes were discerning, searching hers for answers he was convinced he would not find.

"Your name would be written into the dirt, cast into an unmarked grave, forgotten for all of time..."

He let go of her chin now, folding his arms and taking a step back.

"So I wish for you to answer me this: what is your value? Think carefully, now—I think your master, the good man of Farborough, had rather unpleasant intentions for you..."