Arlen's Tale, part 2

    Magic, as far as Arlen could tell, was all about reading. Oh, sure, there was plenty of hand-waving and chanting when it came right down to it, but the only magician he knew was Vanessa Dirham, and she seemed to spend a good ninety percent of her time reading thick books that could probably kill a cat if dropped properly. And yet she could barely do the simplest of magic. Sure, lighting a fire with a wave of a hand is a neat parlor trick, Arlen thought, but when the fire was only candle-size it wasn’t terribly impressive.  She was reading now at her desk when he slowly opened the door after two knocks. Her room was brightly decorated in pastel yellow, with wide windows that she nonetheless had curtains drawn over a good eighty percent of the time. Vanessa looked up and smiled at him, gesturing him over.
    It would be a bit of a lie to say she was the most beautiful woman he knew. She was short and rather rickety in build, but she had a pleasant smile and smooth, dark hair that cascaded down her back, and that was enough to earn “beautiful” in Arlen’s eyes. He carefully set down the platter of biscuits and tea (two sugars, no more) and turned to go.
    “Wait, Arlen.” He turned back.
    “Yes, miss?”
    “Vanessa. Anyway, I learned something new, and I need someone else to see it so that I know i’m not just imagining it. Can you stick around for a bit, please?” Arlen had things to do today (Though admittedly not many) but this was a fairly standard request. Every time Vanessa learned to do some new spell she showed it off to him, usually while others were around. If he didn’t know better, Arlen thought, he would assume that Vanessa was trying to impress him.
    “I can watch for a bit.” Vanessa’s face broke out into a smile wide as he had ever seen.
    “Good! Now, um, just face that wall over there. Yeah, stand there and just… wait, please.” Standing and  facing a wall while trying to maintain a formal disposition while his master’s daughter ruffled through paper and muttered to herself about magical jargon he didn’t understand struck him as a bit awkward. Still, he swallowed the question on his tongue and stood there. Vanessa finished mumbling and, presumably waving behind him, and they both were immersed in silence for a moment. Then she spoke.
    Arlen nearly jumped out of his skin when “Hello!” was whispered what seemed to be right in his ear. He wheeled on one heel and Vanessa still stood there across the room, waving.
    “Don’t panic!” her voice whispered in his right ear.
    “I -- What? How? That’s-”
    “Magic.” Vanessa said, flatly but still smiling.
    “Right. I- That’s incredible. How far away can you do that from?”
    “About fifty feet or so. I just…” She traced one slippered foot in a circle on the ground. “I just needed to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. Thanks, Arlen. I’ll stop taking up your time now.” Arlen’s shoulders relaxed, and he returned to a more dignified posture.
    “Very good, miss Dirham. Is there anything else I can help you with?” Vanessa paused for a moment, considering something, and then turned to him again.
    “First of all; It’s Vanessa. Not miss Dirham. That’s mom. Secondly; I… actually do need your help with something. I need to go into town tomorrow and pick up some reagents for ritual practice. You know, candles, rosemary, so on and so forth. I don’t want to take from mom and dad, so I got some money together but I’d feel safer if I had someone with me. Can you take some time out and come along?”
    “It’s not really up to me, miss Vanessa, but I think I can after about two tomorrow.”
    “Great! Um, I’ll see you then… then.” Vanessa tried not to look at him as she sat back down and stared at her textbook. Arlen turned to leave, slowly walking out in case she had something to say. She didn’t.

    Shopping with a teenage girl was always an exhausting experience, Arlen had found. He’d carried bags for Vanessa’s older sister Meb when she was younger as well, and Vanessa had clearly learned well. Though they were supposed to have gone out only to pick up some reagents, as well as extra groceries tacked on when Terna had heard of the shopping trip. Still, Vanessa was clearly enjoying herself, humming and stopping at nearly every storefront or stand to look around, and it was not his place to complain. Right now he was standing beside a bench, waiting for Vanessa to return from haggling over the price of some strange powder whose use eluded him. Maybe it was makeup. He gazed out over the crowd of people and some gazed back. Most looked at his bindings and then looked away. Some looked at him with sympathy that he didn’t quite understand. And a few looked at him with anger; He looked away from those people first.
    Arlen turned back in time to see the scene unfold. Vanessa had purchased the strange powder and walked away from the vendor, right into Jakob Yvel and his two friends. Arlen only knew about Jakob from gossip, shared during parties or occasional glimpses of the newspaper when he had both the time and opportunity to read it, but he knew of his now infamous exploits. To put it politely, Arlen knew Jakob secondhand as a pushy, womanizing lech, known throughout the area as a dangerous person to be around. The newspapers never confirmed anything, but the rumors Arlen had heard whispered that the young Yvel had killed a man and attacked several more, getting away with it only because of the high status of his father, a minister in the city government.
    To compound this, he was tugging on Vanessa’s wrist, and cooing to her. Two younger boys followed behind him, snickering occasionally.
    “Come on, babe. It’ll be fun.”
    “Not interested.” Vanessa’s voice was curt and cold, but Jakob pressed on.
    “Well, I can make you interested, if you want to be like that.”
    “I told you, go away.”
    “Well, now I can’t if you have an attitude like that.” The younger boys (Warcofts? Arlen couldn’t remember) giggled at this not-joke and Jakob tried to pull Vanessa closer. Arlen was already moving by this point, his feet moving seemingly on their own towards the four of them.
    “Sir?” Arlen was ignored as Jakob tried to pull Vanessa closer, but she was more capable at avoiding Jakob than she looked.
    “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to let the mistress leave.” Again, Arlen was ignored. Now, he decided, was the time for drastic measures. So of course, he leapt forward and struck Jakob in the face with a solid punch. Almost reflexively, Jakob drew a steel blade from his belt and let go of Vanessa’s arm, who looked desperately at Arlen before sprinting away.
    Arlen didn't look behind him. Vanessa was gone, shoes clattering on the flagstones and screaming for help as he faced the three boys (or should he think of them as “men”? Well, not now). The stall of fruit on his left and the unopened crate of oranges on his right stood guard against the approach of the two younger boys, but the eldest – Jakob – and his knife still separated him from the safety of the gathering crowd.
    “Well look at that you fucking dit, you've run off our fun.” Jakob snarled. Arlen said nothing, throwing the bag of groceries to one side and putting up his hands in what he hoped was a boxer's stance. He didn't need to WIN, Arlen thought, he just needed to stall for enough time for his mistress to get safely away. Then he could run, or surrender, or try and get lost in the crowd or something. Then Jakob took his first stab and all of Arlen's thoughts were swept away. Arlen half-slid, half stumbled out of the way of the knife, sliding back behind the crate while Jakob pursued. It was a small blade, perhaps four inches but that didn't mean it wouldn't kill him.
    “I guess we'll have to make you pay for that one, huh? Maybe you'll be fun for a bit.” Again Jakob stabbed, and again Arlen danced back (if such clumsy motion could really be considered dancing. The older of Jakob's goons, Nirel, had shimmied around the crate to try and catch Arlen but his clumsy grab at the slave's right arm caught nothing but air. Raw terror filled his heart and blood pounded in his ears as Arlen dodged another stab, and then a slash at his face which he narrowly avoided. His gaze flicked to the crowd, merchants and citizens out shopping and gawking at the display, yet infuriatingly none of them helping, or even calling for help. The guard would be there soon with Vanessa going for help, at least.
    “Come on, sir. Look how many people are watching-” Arlen ducked a stab at his throat and spun on his heel and one palm to avoid a kick from the youngest goon. “-You really think you're going to get out of this with no witnesses?” Jakob laughed, though Arlen was not sure if that was due to what he said or from Nirel finally landing a good solid punch on Arlen's left side, causing him to stagger a bit. “What? Who the fuck cares, you're just some chainie. Oh boo hoo, we might get some community service. House washing, boys!” Nirel giggled dutifully, but the younger boy kept his brow furrowed, trying to land something on Arlen. “Maybe a fine. Who cares. Gotta teach you your place, dit.” and then the swirling melee resumed in silence.
    Well, calling it a swirling melee might be wrong. That's what a poet or author would call it, but Arlen would think of it as more of a desperate struggle to not get stabbed, and anyone with any sort of skill or experience with fighting would find the whole thing frankly ridiculous. The focus of the fight had clearly no idea what he was doing, spending his time dodging and only getting himself into worse and worse ground (going from a tiny gap between a crate and a stall where only one of the boys could approach him at a time to an open area where they could encircle him) and yet the three assailants simply could not land anything on him. It wasn't that Arlen was fast or skillful, rather that everyone was simply dreadfully incompetent. Still, eventually the worst happened.
    Arlen tried to dodge left to avoid Nirel's punch just as Jakob lunged forward, blade out. There was a sharp intake of breath from the entire gathered crowd and Arlen couldn't help but wonder why he HURT so bad, eyes twitching down to confirm his suspicions. The knife had sunk two inches deep into his gut, and he could see Jakob smile even if it felt far more distant than he remembered. The knife drew back (twisting as Jakob pulled it out) and Arlen could already see the knife slashing down across his face. At the last instant he hurled his arm upwards to block the slash and protect his face. Metal ground against metal as one of his Bonds (the left one, specifically) parried Jakob's knife. There was a hissing sound and a moment of awful stillness and silence as green smoke and dust shot from the gash in the runed bonds. Arlen stuttered but managed to get out his horrified words. “Wha-what have you DONE?!”
    Even as he spoke the final word darkness rolled forth from Arlen. Later, many of the eyewitnesses would have trouble describing exactly what happened. Many would claim that the slave had burst with previously contained magic, a flood of darkness like water spilling out over the square. Others would contend this was an exaggeration; the bubble of nearly pure blackness had only been about eight meters in every direction, hardly covering the entire square. Still others said that quiescent tentacles of darkness comprised the shadowy covering, and they could also have been right. Still, all agreed on one thing; the glowing golden eyes at the center of the field from where the slave had been disturbed them.
    But that was irrelevant to Arlen. He stared at his arms and hands, at Jakob and his goons flailing around in the square as if they were blind. Even with the throbbing, stabbing pain in his gut he felt invigorated, alive in a way he rarely did. Laughter pressed at his lips as he drew up his hands. Well, if they were going to give him such an opening by flailing around like fools, Arlen reasoned as he swung a fist into Jakob’s undefended face. The satisfying wet sound and gurgle Jakob made turned up the corners of Arlen’s mouth, just a bit. Even as Nirel stumbled in Jakob’s direction Arlen pressed onwards, smashing a knee into the eldest thug’s gut. The knife skittered to the ground and a quick sweep of the foot threw it out of the reach of any of the three boys.
    “Now then, Mister Yvel,” Arlen said as he slammed Jakob to the cobblestone street, stepping back to dust his hands and speak, “I’m afraid there are no witnesses for you right now. Can I convince you to give up?”
    “Fuck you. You’ll pay for this one, you shit.” Jakob spat at Arlen -- or at least where he presumed the slave was. The spit landed about a foot off to the side.
    “Oh well. Figured I would offer, sir.” A quick sidestep of the youngest boy and a charge later, and Jakob fell down to the cobblestones once more.
    The fight itself was a quick and relatively brutal affair after that point. Despite being able to theoretically see where Arlen was from his eyes, the confusion brought on by the complete cave blackness and the feeling that they were fighting more than one person at a time with the dizzying array of punches and kicks they received from their formerly meek foe nearly defeated the trio for Arlen. Eventually Nirel and his younger brother resigned themselves to crawling slowly out of the smoky darkness while Arlen sat on the chest of Jakob and hammered at his face while occasionally shouting about not letting him hurt or touch Vanessa.
    Halfway through giving an impromptu lecture on the virtues of man and why a lady’s dignity was sacrosanct delivered via punches to the face, the sound of boots clattering on pavement reached Arlen’s ears. The last punch never landed, suspended in the air as if being held back by wires. Arlen stood and turned to face the seven binders in patrol gear peering fruitlessly at him. Shame kicked in, and he raised his arms. “I surrend-” Before he could complete his capitulation force struck him like a battering ram and bands of nothingness wrapped around his chest, arms and legs. As his wound was tightly squeezed by the Raveller spell he would have screamed if there was any air left in his lungs, crushed out of him as it was. The darkness poured back into Arlen as darkness took him, three of the binders walking up to him.
“Lady-on-high, rookie, you didn’t have to hit him so-”


    Arlen awoke, slowly, like a man burdened with irons trying to sit up. It was a few seconds later till he realized that he actually WAS burdened with irons, a leg bar and chain wrapped around his legs and cuffs circling his wrists. And something covered his eyes, the blackness due to whatever blindfold was wrapped around his face. His mouth tasted dry. Tongue ran over lips, and after a moment he spoke to the blackness. “H-Hello?” A few moments passed. No response. Arlen sighed, and slumped down on the flat surface he sat upon. A bench? A bed? It didn’t matter. Visions of what he had done and what would be done to him flashed through his mind quickly. He’d be lucky if he was just tortured. He had actually, seriously hurt a noble, and already he could see the punishments that would be laid upon him.
    Arlen stewed a while in silence and darkness. Not that he actually knew how long a ‘while’ was, but he still thought of it that way. There was no sound other than an occasional scratching of the wall to his back and the sound of distant movement somewhere to his side. Arlen didn’t concern himself with such things. He was too concerned with the hideous punishment he would surely receive from the binders, or worse, Lazaran. It was with no small amount of terror that he listened to footsteps approaching the room he was in. Two -- or maybe three? people stepped over the stone floor, stopping in front of what he assumed was the door and paused to speak to each other with muffled voices.
    A screech of metal on stone rang out as the door was pulled outwards, and even through what must have been a blindfold he could tell the room brightened.
“Arlen Dirham?” a gruff voice rang out.
“I-Y-yes?” Arlen stuttered.
“Your bail has been paid. You’re free to go.” The man thumped over to him and with a few tugs and a turned key or two, light shone in Arlen’s eyes and the chains were loosened. His bindings had been repaired, he noted. The jailer looked into his eyes with a calculating gaze, flicking over the slave’s body to make sure no harm had come to it.
    “You’re awaited at processing. I’ll take you there.” Arlen had several questions but all of them died in the gruff man’s quick tone and businesslike manner. He followed dumbly behind as they walked through the nigh-featureless stone corridors, carved or shaped from what looked like solid rock with thick wooden doors set in every fifteen feet or so. Soon the jailer opened a door into a wider room, carpeted and decorated brightly with thin glass windows set in the front of the room, revealing the outdoors and letting sunlight in, forcing Arlen to wince. When he could see again the main inhabitants of the room were revealed.
    Lazaran Dirham looked tired with clearly visible bags under his eyes and rather unconcerned with the guards sitting behind the reception desk. He managed a weak smile to Arlen and the guard.
“So, is that all then? May I take my property and go home then, officer?” In that moment, Arlen felt fear for what felt like the first time. Despite it surely flashing across his face, none of the others paid it any mind. The guard shuffling papers around spoke.
“You -- or your property -- are to report back here at seven-thirty-five on Sunday the nineteenth. Don’t be late. Sentencing will be handled then. I’ll need you to sign here but afterwards, yes, you can leave.”
Lazaran nodded, and scribbled his signature across a few of the proffered papers. “Well then, I shall be taking my leave. Come along, Arlen.” Again, Arlen was lead though this time outside and shaking slightly in abject terror. Across the cobbled street the pair went and into a carriage. If he hadn’t been so terrified, Arlen probably would have admired the decor. It had been a long time since he was in a carriage, but all he could do now was focus on preventing his terror from showing and watching his master carefully.
Lazaran slumped back in the cushioned seat and casually knocked twice on the wall behind him, starting the carriage with a jolt. His eyes closed and a groan sounded forth from his lips. And then he sat in silence. Arlen stared. And stared. Finally, courage and curiosity overcame fear and he sat up.
“I’m sorry, sir.” One eye flicked open on Lazaran’s face, the other covered by a hand.
“Whatever for?”
“Well, I, um, sort of assaulted a nobleman in public, sir. I’m afraid I’ve put you to all this trouble and, well, I’m probably going to be hung, so I’ll have deprived you of property as well.” Lazaran sat upright and fixed Arlen in place with a serious gaze.
“Arlen, you are not going to be hung.”
“But I -- Yes, sir. But surely I’m-” Arlen quailed.
“You were scheduled to receive fifty lashes over a month and a half. I had a bit of a chat with Reverend Grimes. Do you remember him?” Arlen thought for a moment. Images flashed to his mind.
“Grey hair, solid build, never smiling?”
“That’s about right. He’s an old friend of the family and he’s responsible for your trial. I’ve got a lawyer lined up, but rest assured the penalty has been reduced to a fine instead. Not many like the Yvels, and the Warcofts aren’t of any real importance.”
“Er… How much is the fine, sir?” Arlen inquired. Lazaran’s brow furrowed.
“About three hundred and fifty ruls, assuming it goes our way. The maximum penalty you could receive fine-wise is about nine hundred ruls.” Arlen’s eyes could have been dish plates. Even three hundred was more than he had been worth even when he was young. Before Arlen could apologize profusely, Lazaran spoke, sharply.
“Hold your tongue, boy. I’d pay ten times that, no, a hundred times that to keep Vanessa safe. You’ve gone above and beyond what anyone would have expected from you.” A smile broke out on the nobleman’s face, brow releasing it’s tense stare.
“You saved her, Arlen. Be proud of that.” Arlen sat in silence, absorbing what his master had said, nearly in shock. Lazaran reached forward and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Arlen, I am eternally grateful to you. No punishment for your heroism will fall upon you if I can help it.”
“I -- thank you, master.” Arlen whispered.
“No, thank you. Now, I understand you were hurt badly in the -- let’s call it a scuffle -- so you’re not needed to fulfill your duties today. How soon can you return to serve?” Arlen thought for a moment, feeling offhandedly at the place his wound had been. A large scar had formed there from the simplistic healing magic used upon him. “I could probably work today if you needed it, master.”
“Nonsense. We’ve got Sansen on most of the day to day tasks today. You can return to work tomorrow.” Lazaran laughed slightly. “Still, these last few days have been difficult without you. Try to not get yourself hurt again, would you?” Arlen jolted, and fixed his master with a quizzical look.
“A few days?!”
“What, they didn’t tell you? They kept you under for two days while healing you and fixing your bindings. Which reminds me, how exactly did your bindings come loose? It wasn’t mentioned in the report.” Lazaran leaned forward, waiting for a response.
“Well, Jakob -- Mr. Yvel-”
“Call him Jakob, boy. He isn’t a man yet.” Lazaran interrupted.
“... after Jakob stabbed me here,” Arlen patted the scar on his stomach, “he attempted to slash my face. I parried with the binding and, apparently that... broke the runes, somehow? I’m not entirely sure myself.”
“Well, fascinating. I never knew that the bindings could be broken so easily. What’s stopping a godling like yourself from just breaking them on a sharp rock, or something?”
“We… can’t do it. It’s part of the binding, you can’t try and break it at all.” Lazaran looked like he was going to say something, but the cart jolted to a stop.
“I think we’re here.” Lazaran peered out the window.
“Terna and Vanessa will be overjoyed to see you, but right now you should go and get some proper sleep. I’ll field their questions for you. Anything you want me to tell them?”
    “Sorry for putting them to all this trouble?”
    “I’ll ignore that for now. Go, get some sleep. Being kept under doesn’t count as real rest, or so I heard.” Lazaran let him out of the car and hurried him along the walkway after a moment’s whispered conversation with the chariot driver. In through the doorway. He could hear steps approaching as his master pushed him towards the slave’s quarters (though, to be fair, they were mostly his quarters.) but he complied with his master’s wishes and walked through the door. A flash of dark hair was all he saw of Vanessa before the door closed, and a hint of conversation.
    “Dad, is he okay?”
    “He’s fine, dear. A bit shaken and worried, but he’ll live.” Arlen walked away from the two into darkness. His shirt and undershirt stripped off, he plopped down onto the cot that dominated the room’s spartan features. He couldn’t sleep, he decided after fifteen minutes. It wasn’t dark enough to remove his vision, even with only the barest hint of light from under the door nearby. Alone again, Arlen mused.

    It wasn’t until the next day that Arlen learned he was famous. Terna Dirham was the harbinger of ill tidings.
    “Oh my.” The woman of the house looked up at Arlen over the newspaper, a broadsheet published and printed in the capital as he poured her a cup of tea.
    “Did you know that you’re in the paper, dear?” With that, she turned over the paper in her hand, revealing an illustration of four men fighting at the top middle of the news, right on the front page. Arlen squinted and leaned in, setting aside the poured cup on the table besides Terna. With a little imagination it could be him, Arlen decided. ‘He’ was holding a rather heroic pose, dodging a blade with a twitch of the head while the youngest Warcroft was wrapped around his right leg and the eldest was tripping over his own feet in eagerness to get at him. Arlen traced a finger over his jaw. Yep, he definitely wasn’t that chiseled. At the top of the page in bold font read “HEROIC SLAVE SAVES MASTER’S DAUGHTER FROM THREE ASSAILANTS”. There was an article below it, but he had neither the time nor inclination to read it from her hands.
    “Well, I didn’t know that I was that tall. Or that handsome.” Arlen traced a finger on the printing. “Or that I leave my shirt open when I go shopping.” Vanessa giggled slightly at that one, “Structure and Interpretation of Thaumaturgical Foci” ignored for this apparently riveting discussion.
    “Well, don’t let the fame go to your head but if you look like that, maybe you should leave your shirt open more, dear. And besides, you’re handsome enough. If you were eligible I’d bet you’d be beating the ladies off with a stick.” Terna smiled wide and reached up to pinch Arlen’s cheek before flipping the newsheet back over and reaching for the tea. “Thank you, Arlen. You may go.” Arlen set the tea warmer down on the side table next to the tea cup and turned to leave. Before he could go, Vanessa spoke out to him.
    “Hey, Arlen.” He turned to her as she squirmed, looking for something to say.
    “Thanks.”
    “Don’t mention it, miss.”
    “No, seriously, thank you. Oh, could you, um…. bring some... sandwiches up for me later?” Vanessa fluttered her eyelashes. Terna didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to notice, chuckling while reading the news.
    “What kind of sandwich, miss?”
    “Oh, any kind will do. About two o’clock, I’ll be studying. Again.” Suspicious, Arlen thought. His was not to question why, though. He made a mental note and nodded.
    “Alright, miss Dirham.”
    “Vanessa, please.” She gave him a pleading look while he thought and then slowly shook his head.
    “I don’t get to decide that, miss.”
    “Well, I’m deciding that for you then.” Vanessa glanced at Terna. She gave no notice as to if she had heard. Arlen closed his eyes.
    “Yes, miss Vanessa.” he said, reluctantly.
    After Arlen had left the room to attend to his other tasks (cleaning the downstairs bathroom today) Terna turned to Vanessa.
    “Dear, don’t taunt him too much.”

    Arlen closed the door behind him. He had fixed up two pork sandwiches under the careful instruction of the manor’s cook, Mrs. Sansen. Still, Arlen wasn’t stupid, and he could certainly sense something off about Vanessa’s order. So he straightened his shoulders and prepared to dissuade her as gently as possible from whatever course she was tacking. Vanessa was reading something, swirling the mysterious powder in it’s bag with one finger as she turned the pages with her other hand. Even from this distance, Arlen could see that it wasn’t written in any language he could read. Wizards. He shook his head, and then coughed to draw her attention after he padded over with the two sandwiches and her tea with two sugars, as usual.
    “You called, miss?”
    “Oh? Yes, right. Um, stand over there please. You can face me this time.” Vanessa ignored the proffered sandwiches and tea, placing them on the table and instead reaching for both her book and the powder, which took on a light green color when gathered in her hand. Arlen only started to worry when the powder lifted itself into the air and symbols carved themselves from it.
    “Is this… properly safe, miss?”
    “Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s fine. Pretty sure. 98% sure. Anyway, it couldn’t hurt you even if something did go drastically wrong. It’s just a little parlor trick.”
    “To be honest miss, that’s not very comforting.”
    “Well, quiet down then and hold still, I need to see how this works on you.” Arlen couldn’t help but feel ever so slightly more worried as Vanessa started chanting, though not for very long. Within moments she raised a hand to the green powder now floating in the air and blew it off of her palm. Whatever Arlen expected, it wasn’t for the powder to suddenly stream across the room and pour onto him, coating his clothes and skin before vanishing. All of a sudden the heat hit Arlen like a truck. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and his clothing felt too tight and too warm. He was grasped by an intense desire to unbutton his shirt, which he successfully repressed.
    “Well? Did it work?” Vanessa asked, excitement inching into her voice. She stepped closer to him, within arm’s reach now as she examined Arlen. He wanted to grab her, to hug her close and never let go but instead he stumbled backwards and fell, room at blast furnace heat now.
“I feel… strange, miss.” Arlen whispered out, mouth and throat dry. He couldn’t quite pull himself up as he flopped on the ground not unlike a fish, trying to get onto his knees at least. Vanessa’s eyes narrowed, and she started flipping through the spellbook she carried.
“Wait a moment. This isn’t supposed to happen. It’s supposed to be more like--” And that precise moment is when Lazaran Dirham opened the door.

Arlen didn’t remember that much of the next few minutes, preoccupied as he was with the growing heat in his skin and the itching that soon developed and the stirring of certain thoughts towards Vanessa that he considered rather unsavory. Soon enough he found himself sat on a couch in the sitting room, Terna stitching some pattern with furrowed brow. She looked Arlen dead in the eye as he stirred from his haze.
“Feeling better?” she asked, not unkindly.
    “Ah, yes, Ma’am.”  Silence fell over them, and Arlen could barely hear muffled arguing from upstairs.
    “I hope I’ve not caused too much trouble.” Arlen ventured after a few seconds.
    “Oh, I should think not. Our daughter has just overstepped the boundaries of right and proper again, and you just experienced the unfortunate result. Now, Arlen, we’ll be hosting a party in three day’s time for a small collection of guests -- the who isn’t important, really -- and we need to be prepared to feed and seat them all.” Terna’s voice went from kind and forgiving to businesslike in a manner of seconds, and Arlen found himself soon wrapped up in answering questions and making notes as for the preparation. Never a dull moment, Arlen reflected, though this last week had been busier than most.

---        ---        ---

The door closed with a very final “click”. Vanessa shivered a little. She hadn’t expected it to go so wrong! It was just supposed to be a funny little trick, that was all. Well, and maybe a bit more than that but there was nothing wrong with that. It was her right to do as she pleased with her property, but the way that her father looked at her made Vanessa quake a bit in the boots she wasn’t wearing.
“Well then, Vanessa, would you care to tell me why our butler is currently sweating wildly and unable to form complete sentences?” Lazaran asked, in a tone of voice that made it clear that he already knew the answer. Still, he’d want a response wouldn’t he, Vanessa thought. She sighed.
“I was showing him a new spell I’d learned and it didn’t go as expected.” Vanessa said, resigned to the inevitable scolding that would result.
“Oh? Well, that’s interesting, honey. I know that you like demonstrating your Talent, but generally speaking haven’t you been doing significantly lesser stunts, like lighting fires or sending messages through the wind?” There was only a slight hint of malice in her father’s voice this time, but that didn’t mean that Vanessa couldn’t read the writing on the wall.
    “I wanted to improve, and show that I improved. Is that so wrong?” Her words came off as a bit more biting than intended, and she nearly physically recoiled as they spilled out of her mouth.
    “No, there’s nothing wrong with that. What is wrong is using charm magic on our slave.” If looks could kill, Vanessa felt she’d be little more than ash.
    “Do you know exactly how illegal charm magic is, honey?” Silence. Vanessa refused to look him in the eye.
    “I know you do, but just to reaffirm why I’m upset; You could be thrown in jail right now for what you did and by the time your eldest brother died of old age you would STILL BE IN JAIL.” Lazaran’s voice raised to a low roar and Vanessa couldn’t help but cringe.
    “What in the world made you think that you could handle mind manipulation, how did you learn to do such a thing, and why did you think to test it on our longest serving and most loyal servant, who, may I remind you, nearly died to save you earlier this week!?”
    “It was in the book!” admittedly, an example of what NOT to do, she thought “And he’s okay!” Lazaran sighed, and took the proffered book, flipping through the pages before covering his face with one hand.
    “What… exactly, were you trying to do?” Vanessa remained silent. She couldn’t look at her father, but when he spoke again his voice was surprisingly tender.
    “Darling, you can tell me. I won’t judge you.” Lazaran whispered. Vanessa could feel tears involuntarily roll down her face, but made no attempt to wipe them away.
    “... I just wanted him to like me. That’s all.” Hands placed themselves on her shoulders and she looked to see her father smiling, if a bit wearily.
    “What, that’s all? Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. You don’t have to force him to like you, you know. You could just, hm.” Lazaran rubbed the back of his neck.
    “I don’t actually know how to go about that. You’d probably best ask your mother.”
    “But it’s not proper-” Lazaran cut her off with a shrug.
    “It may not be proper but that doesn’t make it uncommon. I can think of a few ladies who share your tastes, and I wouldn’t call any of them improper. Don’t worry about it.” Vanessa looked at her father with more than a bit of confusion and suspicion.
    “Why… are you accepting this? Isn’t this kind of, you know… bad?” Vanessa said, slowly.
    “Well, to be honest Vanessa, I’m just a little glad it’s not the Samael’s boy you liked when you were fourteen.” Could her face be any more red?
    “And it’s not like you have to worry about getting in trouble with him.” Yes, yes it could. Lazaran continued, oblivious or in spite of his youngest daughter’s embarrassment.
    “Arlen was always for you, you know. The plan was never to marry you off, so your mother figured you needed a personal attendant to help you out instead.” Vanessa decided she was uncomfortable with this line of thought, particularly because if she recalled she had been six when her father had purchased Arlen.
    “Dad, please stop.”
    “Alright. You should still apologize to Arlen, honey.”
    “I will, dad.”

    It was two days before an opportunity presented itself.

    Arlen was busy with polishing the handrests of the furniture in the drawing room, making sure all the furniture was in the proper place and that the cushions had been properly re-seated. Everything was looking up, in his eyes. All the main preparations had been laid for the party tomorrow (which was celebrating some election of one of the Farngates to a minor government office he’d never heard of) and all that he had to do now was make sure that nothing went grotesquely, drastically wrong during the cleaning and setup, which Arlen thought was so simple a child could have done it, and a particularly stupid child at that. The house was quiet and the windows shuttered, lamps lit for the nighttime. Terna and Lazaran were out seeing the Tragedy of Gillian, and the house felt quiet and empty. It was so quiet that Arlen could hear Vanessa enter the drawing room without even paying attention.
    “Arlen?” The slave nodded and grunted in affirmation, polishing the handrest of that green chair that Mrs. Dirham liked so much for the third time. There was an exasperated sigh behind him as he turned to face her.
    “Yes?”
    “Look, I’d just like to say i’m -- Well, that is --” Vanessa was wringing her hands and staring at the floor rather than him. It didn’t take an idiot to see what she was trying to say.
    “I forgive you for -- whatever that was. You don’t need to apologize, though.” It was her right, and his responsibility to take whatever she threw at him. If that involved magic, so be it.
    “Yeah, but I still feel like -- Thanks.” She was smiling now. That was good. He was reminded uncomfortably of the strange thoughts that had risen while he was charmed -- or whatever it was.
    “Hey, can you come up to my room after you finish in here? I have something I want to show you.”
    “Of course.” Arlen stated, subtly turning back to the chair to continue polishing if she wanted to speak further. However, Vanessa simply smiled at him with a wink and disappeared up the stairs. Strange. Still, Arlen decided he would finish up in the drawing room and bring Vanessa her tea. It seemed like a decent fallback, and he could hope that whatever spell she would cast on or at him this time wouldn’t leave him unable to stand properly, at least. With that in mind, he set off to put a kettle on.
    Roughly twenty minutes later (the teak wood table had proved harder to polish than he had expected) Arlen ascended the stairs and stopped at the second door on the left, taking a moment to himself to breathe in and prepare himself for what magical experiment he’d be subjected to this time. He knocked twice, received a “come in!” and creaked the heavy oak door open. Lamplight and a single flickering candle provided only partial illumination to this room, only good for reading at the desk -- which Vanessa was, surprisingly, not sitting at. She wasn’t by the desk or the window or by her bed, which meant that she was in her dressing closet. Still, not his to pry. He floated into the room, door clicking behind him and he placed the cup, platter and kettle on the desk and turned around to exit just as Vanessa left her closet.
    Arlen was fairly sure his heart stopped, even if it was just a moment. His master’s daughter (also technically his master) had just strode out of the closet with supreme confidence wearing nothing at all. Well, basically nothing, Arlen didn’t consider that strip of cloth covering her breasts and her undergarments ‘clothing’. His face flushed and he stopped mid-stride, nearly stumbling over.
    “M-my apologies, miss! I-I shall leave at once!” he managed to stutter out as fast as humanly possible, words spilling over each other in his embarrassment. But as he turned to make a speedy retreat she held up a hand and spoke in a voice that could possibly be called sultry if you squinted a little.
    “No.”
    “But-”
    “No buts. Just sit down on the bed.” Oh dear. Arlen’s training did cover this, but he’d hoped that it wouldn’t have come at such a bizarre time. He’d more expected a drunk houseguest or something, not his master’s daughter dressed up in frilly nothing. He’d escaped a beating once but he doubted he’d get away with it this time. Quailing under her gaze, he slowly walked to the bed and sat down on the edge, tense to the gills. Vanessa clambered onto the bed behind him.
    “There, wasn’t that easy? Now, seriously, relax.” she breathed into his ear, leaning on his shoulder. Arlen stiffened even further when trying to relax, panic nearly overtaking him as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear. One small hand slowly slid it’s way down his side and to his pants and began struggling with his belt. He moved to assist her, training overcoming panic but she cut him off with a hiss.
    “Hand at your sides, Arlen. Only move when I tell you.” With that, she bit his ear. He recoiled in pain and she giggled.
    “Oops. Lighter than that, right?” Where, exactly, did she learn to do that, Arlen wondered. She’d probably want to get a refund. Vanessa fumbled with the belt for another minute before cursing quietly and undoing the belt with both hands, straining to reach down. Eventually the fell buckle was bested and Vanessa quietly giggled as she threaded it out of it’s loops.
    “Now, where were we? Right.” With one hand the magician gently spread the slave’s pants and began fumbling around. Arlen could almost audibly hear the blush on her face when she touched his cock for the first time. He twitched, both himself and his manhood when she groped at him clumsily. Her other arm anchored itself around his chest and she leaned into his back, still grabbing at him and breathing on his ear.
    “Well, you like that, don’t you?” Where in the world had she learned to do this? Arlen was no expert judge, but this certainly didn’t sound like a shut-in attempting seduction for the first time, he pondered as she played with him through his underwear, cooing to him as he hardened slowly. What was the right response here? She’d shut down his attempt to leave, but Arlen was fairly certain -- no, he KNEW this was a bad idea. He’d get punished forever, he was sure. As he was pondering the many, many varieties of beatings and punishments Arlen was sure he would receive, Vanessa took the moment to reach into his underwear and pull his manhood free. There was a moment’s pause, Arlen stopped dead in his line of thought by her warm hand wrapped around his cock and Vanessa staring, unbreathing at him.
    “Well then. I see your breeding is worth something!” Vanessa said, half chuckle, half whisper. And then she began to move, gently grabbing at him and sliding her hand delicately up and down his cock. Again those unbidden thoughts leapt to his mind, but Arlen couldn’t dismiss them now between the slight spasms when she rubbed over the head of his penis. His suit coat felt too tight and hot for him again but yet he strangely didn’t mind. Slowly she built speed, faster and faster, gripping him more firmly as the tip of his cock oozed precum all over her hands and by extension, him. His breathing rose with her speed and he could hear her giggle in his left ear but it felt distant, like listening underwater. And then, right as he could feel something coming, she stopped. Arlen let out an agonized groan at his denied release and his hands twitched off the bed to reach for himself but a hiss from her planted them back where they belonged. He ACHED for a moment and then -- it was gone. His eyes snapped shut and he grumbled under his breath to more laughter from Vanessa.
    “Oh come on, just wait you big baby.” she singsonged as she clambered around in front of him to begin unbuttoning his jacket. .
    “You can help me with this. And take off those pants.” Between the two of them soon Arlen was dressed in only an undershirt, pantsless and still fully erect while Vanessa was in similar condition. He thought he could see a faint trickle of something down her thigh, but he didn’t quite know what it was -- his admittedly lackluster education on the matter was either from his training, which was mostly on how to do what you were told, and terrible, terrible romance novels that even he could tell were not exactly the pinnacle of accurate writing. Vanessa stood before him as he sat there mutely for a moment, admiring her handiwork. With a moment’s thought, she turned around and s l o w l y pulled her panties down her legs, making sure to expose her complete and total lack of ass to her captive audience.
She dropped them off to one side with a wet ‘splat’ and stalked towards him, giggling but trying to make it sound sultry. With that, she pushed him back slightly and clambered onto his waist, lifting herself very carefully and positioning his cock with one hand beneath her, biting her lip with concentration.
“Stay still. DON’T. MOVE. And quiet!” With that, Vanessa dropped herself onto him. The head split her folds and enveloped him in a warm, wet and comfortable embrace as she stopped her descent, grabbing tightly at his neck and shoulders as she hissed before continuing. Further she slid, step by step, inch by inch down his cock. Gently he wrapped his arms around Vanessa’s back and helped her down, and she stayed silent about the disobeyed order. Finally he was inside of her entirely, and Vanessa let out a relieved sigh, smiling at Arlen. Then she started to move again, lifting herself up, dragging her folds across his cock before slamming down all at once. Arlen stifled a groan as the pair got into a rhythm.
Arlen would help lift Vanessa up off of him before dropping her at the apex of her bounce. The flicker of the candles and lamps illuminated the two of them, lost in a gasping world of their own. Arlen could feel the iron coil tighten in his gut with every drop and soon he was involuntarily thrusting up with each drop, much to Vanessa’s audible delight. She was panting, mouth open and staring deep at him as he focused and whenever he tried to look away she would twist his face to be looking at her, whether her body or her own face. Nothing was said between them, just moans and the occasional stifled grunt or gasp.
    She was hot. Too hot, Arlen thought, or would have thought if he could think of anything at the moment. Vanessa’s pussy gripped him like a vise now and nearly burned him, the heat spreading between them. He was harder than he could have ever imagined, cock splitting her folds and driving him slowly insane.  Arlen wanted to grab her thin, rickety but tight body which already grinding against his, soaked with sweat and the heat of exertion and then thrust until both of them were nothing but dust but his caution won out and he bowed to her lead. He knew, even in his addled state that his place was to serve. But that didn’t stop him from WANTING her, wanting to ravage and ruin her and mark her as his own. Vanessa’s hands clawed at the back of Arlen’s head now, breathing growing to a crescendo as Arlen bounced her in his lap. She contributed slightly but had passed over most of the movement to him.
It was inevitable. Arlen could feel something coming forth from within him and this time he was sure he would not be denied. No longer could Arlen hold back his gasps and heavy breathing, panting and gritting his teeth much to Vanessa’s amusement. She lifted his chin up from staring at where he entered her, slick with sweat and precum and smiled at him, cheeks flushed and hair ruined as she dragged him into a kiss. It was a simple one, just two sets of lips gently meeting but that was enough to hurl Arlen over the edge. With a grunt into her lips Arlen pulled her onto his cock completely and burst, spattering her insides with molten fire. With that, Vanessa gasped and teetered over the edge, pulling back in time for a set of short, sharp moans and squeezing Arlen’s impossibly tight to her chest even as he still came.
Arlen’s body was sore as he toppled back, Vanessa following him down onto his chest, still panting and feeling herself drip with one hand as she pulled off of him. With a heavy sigh Vanessa dropped onto Arlen’s chest, just broad enough that she could wrap her arms around him and not feel ridiculous. Arlen lay in silence for a moment, and then another as he caught his breath. The severity of what they had just done hit him like a truck, and he tried to scrabble away even as Vanessa kept him in place.
    “Vanessa!” he hissed.
    “Ugh, what? Can’t you let me lie here in peace for a bit?”
    “What was that?!”
    “What, you didn’t enjoy it? Man, and I had a great time. Should we go again?”
    “No, I mean, yes, I mean, no, I’m just a bit concerned about what your father will say-” Vanessa cut him off with a lazy pat on the cheek.
    “Can we not talk about him right now?” she  pleaded.
    “I’m pretty sure I can’t get away with something like this, Vanessa.”
    “Oh quit your panicking. It’s fine. You’re my property, I told you to do it. Also, he may or may not have given me implicit permission…” Vanessa giggled slightly before continuing.
    “Besides, it’s not like it’s anything to worry about. They got you locked on the whole ‘baby’ thing, but you still seem to work fine.” This was accompanied by a quick grab at rather unfortunately tender parts of his anatomy, which he tried to shy away from but failed.
“Oh, yeah, which reminds me. You’re supposed to be my personal attendant starting tomorrow, which means~ You need to help me find a dress!”
“... Later?”
“So demanding. Fine, fifteen minutes and then you can help pick something out that will make me look pretty for all the girls.” Vanessa sighed and looked up, away from him at the far wall.
“Man, I can’t wait till Meb hears about this.”