Temptress Avery (tanelorn_bound) wrote in world_of_wonder,
Temptress Avery
tanelorn_bound
world_of_wonder

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M'r'kei

Is anyone alive here still? I hope so! I know many of you have probably been busy, I know I have.

Anyway, I wrote this last night as an idea for a somewhat science fiction story entered my head--though it's still more fantasy, but still! It's pretty good for me. This is the first part, so I am actually attempting to write this one in order. The only thing is now I don't know how to connect it to where I want it to go, but it will get there!

You may read this first however, heh! Constructive criticism is requested and appreciated as always.

Tarsik, Lord of Tormir and Conquerer of the Known Worlds, sat behind his desk in his main Working Hall, awaiting the day’s last check-in from one of his captains. If all had indeed gone according to plan as it had for the past two years when he sent a company to a lesser planet to raid a village, then Captain Flis should indeed have a very special package to deliver to his Lord and Commander, no matter that Kr’lik was the final addition to his collection.

At long last, the familiar steady pounding of Flis’ heavy hand beat against the Hall’s tall double-doors of rare blood-red Mirastin. “Send him in,” he said simply to his two guards, doing his absolute best not to seem too eager. Why, something such as that certainly would not give off the effect of being a Deity, especially considering just what he was so eager for...

“My Lord Tarsik,” Fris said immediately as he continued his brisk gait in, “Captain Fris and full crew reporting back from a successful mission as always.” Tarsik could practically smell the pompous smirk on his lips. He would not complain though, as long as Fris had fully accomplished every aspect of his assignment.

“What all did you bring me?” he asked shortly, finally turning his silvery blue eyes from the map he had pretended to study for the last two hours to meet this grey gaze of one of his many minions.

“Sixteen men strong enough to Build, seventeen men and twenty-two women suitable for the mines, six women which will make splendid mistresses and other types of household help on the slave market after some training, thirteen children for slavery, and, of course, one woman that will do for your... special request.”

The left corner of Tarsik’s shapely pink lip twitched. “What do you mean ‘will do,’ Captain? You mean to tell me that you did not find a specimen worthy of my request?”

Fris breathed a noticable sigh of slight irritation. “My Lord, she is without question the most harmless of the captives, and she has enough beauty about her as to not seem plain, I assure you. There are, granted, others far more pleasing to the eye and touch I am sure, but they will need to undertake a large amount of training to get them under control before being trusted with you. You understand. Besides, I doubt we would ever truly be able to find a specimen worthy of you.”

Tarsik sighed boredly. So this would be a girl just like every other Fris and any other captain had ever brought him. He never could understand the problem. Each girl was always thoroughly checked for weapons of any sort before being taken to his bed chamber, and it was highly unlikely one would be stupid enough to attack him with her bare hands, what with firing weapons of all sorts within reach from anywhere in his room that only responded to his touch and guards standing right outside the doors. But rules were rules, and he certainly did not want to lose face simply because he had certain urges he needed satisfied. “Let me see her.”

Fris turned and gave a curt nod, then a a wiry looking girl was escorted in, her hands bound in front of her, long ebony hair falling straight down her slight shoulders. Why, she really was only a girl! Perhaps right on the threshhold of womanhood, but could they not have found him something a little more... developed? She almost looked more like a boy.

He stood and walked towards her, eyeing her critically. Her fiery golden eyes, a trademark of the Kr’lik race, gazed dully ahead, seeming as alive as the Third Eye tattooed on her forehead, another common marking found upon Kr’likians. She held her head in an unusual way too, making her posture almost too perfect for a mere slave.

“She seems a bit too proud for my tastes,” he said to voice this thought, taking a sudden tight grip of her chin and turning her face sharply to the side as he leaned in close to her. Her entire upper body moved with her head in an awkward way, and her eyes never moved from staring dully past the tip of her gracefully curving nose. “What? Nothing to say for yourself?”

“If you please, My Lord,” Fris said, clearing his throat, “she seems to be a mute. She has been the most timid creature we have ever run across, never speaking a word. She may not be completely well in the mind, My Lord. Or perhaps she is just in a deep state of shock. Regardless, it is nothing to be concerned about. She has been nothing but obedient.”

“Obedient, are you?” he whispered, his warm breath stirring a few hairs by her bronze cheek. “We shall see how obedient she is, Captain,” he said more loudly, taking a step back and releasing his hold on her. “Take her to my chambers and leave her there with a guard until I come. I won’t be long.”

“As you wish, My Lord,” Fris said with an ingratiating bow, then nodded to the guards to take her up again and led them out.

Tarsik wasted no time in locking his things away securely to use tomorrow when he would continue to look busy. What was the point anymore? He, Lord Tarsik of the Planet Tormir, had successfully overtaken the only other known planets in the galaxy! Now every day only consisted of raiding and pillaging. It kept his men happy, and it kept him rather pleased as well. Sure, there was the occasional uprising to smash, but it was always easily done away with. Even Kr’lik would be under his tight rule soon, and if the Natives continued to resist, he would do to Kr’lik as he did to Grrik. Then there would be no more Kr’likians left to concern himself over. Only one item remained on his agenda, which would be taken care of shortly.

As he walked with the utmost pride down his luxurious corridors towards his personal chambers, he paused only once to gaze at his miraculous visage in the looking-glass taken from the palace in Boritaan’s capital city of Tarin. His truly was the reflection of a Deity. There was only one thing left to do, and he would be assured dominion over all the known space and anything else that may be discovered, and only now did they have a chance to take it.

He would speak of it to Admiral Torpin tomorrow, however. He had other things to attend to this evening.

His guards entered his chambers before him where the girl waited beside her own guard, sitting up perfectly straight on the side of Tarsik’s bed. They did their routine check of everything to be sure no one or nothing had entered, using various machines to check the air and scan for explosion devices before they dismissed the girl’s guard and turned to make their way back out to their posts outside of his door.

Tarsik entered with his pale eyes fixed on the girl as his guards closed the doors behind him, leaving him alone with this, his prey. And what a pathetic creature she was. He could not keep the disgust from overtaking his features, nor did he care to. “So you are the best he could do, are you?” he asked flatly, her eyes never moving from past her nose. “I doubt you have ever even been properly broken in. Well...” Tarsik slipped off the various layers of his royal robes as he crept to the other side of the bed behind the girl, then slithered into the bed beside her after lowering the lighting. “...we shall soon remedy that situation.”

He took her arm and pulled her roughly back onto the bed. Her posture never faltered, but she whimpered slightly and closed her eyes as if in pain as he continued to pull her up to him and force her to face him.

“Ah-ha! So you do have a voice, you little wretch!” he said with a cruel laugh, shaking her stiff form that just would not settle into him or against his pillows. “Say something!”

Her fiery eyes merely opened again in response, staring deadly at nothing.

Speak!” he demanded, pushing her onto her back as he climbed on top of her, ripping her already scant clothing off savagely. When she did not answer again, he positioned himself to enter her and gripped her shoulders roughly, pulling her up into a fierce kiss to break that blasted straight back of hers.

He delighted in the gasp that followed as he pushed her head back, bending her neck and her spine as he began to lower her again, now fully capable of continuing with his original plans. “Would you at least like to give me a name to call you?” he whispered harshly as he grinned wickedly down at her, his face not even an inch from hers.

But her eyes were no longer dead. They were wide with pain, and her body trembled as deep coughs began shaking her entire being. She rolled out from under him, practically falling to the floor to continue.

Tarsik growled lowly in his throat as he glared over at her. She was on her hands and knees, her back still remarkably straight even as she hacked away at whatever was caught inside of her...

There was blood on the floor. Blood coming out of her mouth. What was this? Was she dying? So quickly?

He groaned in an annoyed manner, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes, waiting for this spell to pass whether it led to her death or not. If she died, he could just send for one of his already used mistresses. At least this would be one Kr’likian less to torment him.

The coughing stopped and gave way to a sickening, gurgling moan of pain which caught his interest. He turned his attention back to the girl just in time to see her pull a jagged blade out of her mouth from where it had been resting, sheathed in her esophagus....

She had driven it through his heart before he had a moment to cry out to his guards or reach for a firing weapon, pinning him to the headboard of his bed where his body jutted out awkwardly over the hiltless blade, cutting deeply into the girl’s hands which held it fast.

Then she sat back, a savage flare in her eyes now as she surveyed her work, wiping a trail of blood trickling from the right corner of her mouth with her left forearm. “M’r’kei,” she spat at him, flecks of her own blood sprinkling his aghast face. “My name is M’r’kei.”

Carefully she raised herself off of the bed and put her bare feet on the ground. She stooped and picked up one of the Late Lord Tarsik’s royal underrobes of pale golden silk, wrapping it around herself. It still seemed a bit large on her slight frame, but it would cover her, and she certainly felt she deserved a souvenir after all of this...

She limped wearily for the window, doubled-over and trying to keep her insides from rebelling long enough to escape, but she paused as she regarded Tarsik’s carcass lying there. She wanted everyone to know who had beaten him. It was not M’r’kei, it was Kr’lik.

She opened a drawer by the bed, and when that proved fruitless as it was only filled with an assortment of firing weapons, she moved on to a fine chest of drawers on the opposite wall. Yes, there was a small dagger there. She removed it and promptly returned to the Late Lord’s side just long enough to carve the following onto the wood over his head:

S’FER’KIT


The Kr’likian word for “Victory.”
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