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"writing": "[b][u][center]The Journey to Slavery\nPart 2\nFor Lightsun168\nBy Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIt was colder when he opened his eyes. The flicker of a campfire told him that enough time had passed that he was no longer anywhere near the river. Arga groaned, trying to reach up and rub his face, only to find that he couldn’t. \n\nMemories flashed by. The river, the swim, the sparring, Geel-Sei dying. All of it flitted through his mind in a flash, and he gasped, opening his eyes with panicked twitches. \n\n“Don’t start thrashing about, lizard,” the voice of the slave trader muttered, coming from across the campfire. “You aren’t getting out of those, and you aren’t getting free anytime soon.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Settle down for the night and I won’t have to beat you again.”\n\nArga blinked through the sleep-haze over his eyes, the Saxhleel slowly making out the shape of the dark elf on the other side of the campfire. He was leaning back against a rock, the guars from before tied down and grazing the stubble of old, dead grass behind him. There was nothing to be seen in the hazy darkness that was the beginning of night. Nothing but dust and earthy hills, at least. \n\nThe Saxhleel looked down at his hands. They were tied together, shackled with a thin metal chain and glimmering enchantments in the metal bands. He couldn’t pull his hands more than an inch apart before he started dragging the other arm along with it, which meant that his hands were all but useless. \n\nHe looked further down. His ankles were restrained in similar fashion, though with a few more inches of slack. Not much more, though. He’d be hobbling along with those, and he doubted that he’d be able to run. Not far, at least, and not quickly at all. \n\n“You got magic,” the dark elf said, tossing a stick in the fire. “Been using that long, lizard?”\n\n“…”\n\n“You’re gonna want to answer that. The more that I know about you, the better I can sell you.”\n\n“Why would I cooperate with that?”\n\n“Simple. The better you are, the more money I get, and the more money I get, the better I treat you before I sell you. Less marks, less beatings. But if all you are is some random bit of scale, then all I gotta do is get you there alive.” \n\nThe Dunmer looked up from the fire, his red eyes fixing on Arga’s. The Saxhleel tried to meet that stare, but the sheer disregard for him was just…too much. He looked down and away, staring at the sand between his toes. \n\n“So, I’ll ask again. You been using that magic for long?”\n\n“…A few years,” he said. \n\n“Know many spells?”\n\n“…Some.”\n\n“Anything but fire?”\n\nHe nodded. \n\n“Which?”\n\n“…Enough.”\n\nThe Dunmer sighed and stood up. He used his spear like a walking stick, but Arga still remembered the slave-hunter’s speed. He’d outdone Geel-Sei as if it was nothing, and Arga doubted that he could react fast enough to stop him if a beating was imminent. He pulled his knees against his chest, lowering his head and looking down at the ground. \n\n“Alright, lizard, let’s get this clear. You ever seen another slave before?”\n\nArga shook his head. \n\n“Here in Morrowind, there’s a bunch of ‘em. You know that, probably. Once you stepped over the line, slavery was legal. The Empire might have a lot of shit to say about how and why and where it works, but here? We do it our way. The Houses run everything, and they all agree that slaves are allowed. \n\n“Thing is, if you were anything but a lizard or a cat, you might have had a chance. But you?” The Dunmer shook his head. “It was never going to happen.”\n\n“What’s going to happen to me?” Arga asked. \n\n“Now you want to talk?”\n\n“I want to know,” he muttered, looking up. “Even if you don’t think that I deserve to be treated like an elf, I do.”\n\n“You’re wrong.”\n\nIt was like a fist to the face. Not even a laugh, just a callous, casual statement that Arga didn’t deserve the same sort of kindness or care that anyone else would get. He would have been able to take mockery, but this…\n\nIt was like having someone explaining to a hatchling, like it was some simple rule that they hadn’t understood yet. The casualness chilled him to the bone, and left him shaking anew. \n\n“Lizards aren’t people. Never have been, never will. The Empire pretends, I suppose, so that it can keep getting tribute from your marshes, but they understand. Or enough of them do, anyway. Not the point here.\n\n“Here’s how this is going to go. You and I are going to travel for a while. The more you tell me about you, the faster I figure out the best buyer to take you to. You do whatever I tell you, you make sure that you never talk back, and if you try and run, I will catch you and I will punish you.”\n\nArga growled. He got the butt of the spear to his chin for his troubles, smacking his head to the side hard enough that his teeth rattled. As he grabbed his face, huffing through clenched teeth, the Dunmer forced his head up with the bladed end of the spear. \n\n“Consider that your warning. You [i]are[/i] going to be taken to a buyer. You can pretend that it won’t happen if you want, but it won’t stop reality. You [i]are[/i] a slave now. There is no going back.”\n\nHissing through his pain, Arga forced himself to meet those red eyes properly. He wanted to be angry, furious, something that would make the elf afraid. More than anything, he wanted to be something that wasn’t so small in the other man’s eyes, something that could be pushed around without consequence. \n\nBut there was no fear there. If anything, there was a faint interest in the possibilities that Arga represented, but that was as much as he could see. \n\nThe Dunmer eventually removed the spear, shaking his head as he lowered the blunt end to the ground. Arga continued to rub his face. \n\n“What spells can you cast, lizard?”\n\n“…Fire, lightning, and ice,” he muttered. “A bit of paralysis…if I can touch someone…and a spell of deafness…”\n\n“Five spells, then. And yet you were stupid enough to use fire. I suppose a beast will never be better than a beast.”\n\nArga clenched his hands into fists.\n\n“You want to hurt me, don’t you?” \n\n“Yes.”\n\n“Try.”\n\nHe whipped his head up. The Dunmer tossed his spear to the side. \n\n“I want you to understand how useless it is. Try and hurt me. Use your fists, your magic, anything. But try.”\n\nIt was a trap, but it was also the only chance that Arga was likely to get. Without hesitation, he leaped to his feet, trying to ram his shoulder into the elf’s stomach. \n\nHe missed, of course. The slave-hunter side-stepped him, but Arga was already spinning, tail low. The elf jumped over it, bringing his leg around with a casual kick that caught the Saxhleel in the hip. He stumbled to the side, barely catching himself with the chains around his ankles. \n\n“Quick reflexes,” the elf said. “Surprising. All the mages of your kind that I’ve seen have been less than…stellar.”\n\n“Mmmph…”\n\n“You can take a hit, too. Hmmm. And yet, you’re not fighting back yet.”\n\nArga was trying to think of the best move. The elf was fast, faster than he could keep up with. Geel-Sei had been cut down easily, but it was more than just this man being a better warrior. This hunter knew how to read him, how to figure out what he was going to do. If they were fighting with weapons, he’d be dead already. \n\nAnd if he fought with magicka…\n\n[i]Lightning would be fast enough…maybe…[/i]\n\nThe elf rolled his eyes and started to reach for his spear. It was no or never; once that weapon was up, he wasn’t going to have a chance. \n\nArga grabbed for his magicka. It was faint, barely there. The power that had always been part of him, the energy that sung in his veins like the Hist in his head was down to embers, barely more than the faintest coals compared to the fire that it had always been. But it was still there, whispering to him. \n\nThe elf was about to grab the spear when the magicka rippled down his arms. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, little more than the tiniest sparks, but it was enough to make the elf’s ears twitch. He whipped his head around as Arga brought his hands up – \n\n“GAH!”\n\nIt was no more than a weak spark, but it still shot from his fingertips and hit the elf in the chest. The Dunmer stumbled back a pace, hissing as he grabbed at his left arm. It was no more than pain, though; Arga could tell that he’d barely had enough energy to force the spell from his hand, let alone do any real damage. \n\nHe stumbled back, huffing for breath as the exertion nearly took him to his knees. He lowered his hands in front of him, his chin falling against his chest. Sweat beaded along his scales, and his heart hammered against his chest. \n\n“…You should not have been able to do that,” the elf said. \n\n“…Surprised you…”\n\n“Yes, you did. Hmm. That will change things.”\n\nSo much for getting away. Arga’s left leg went out from under him, and he fell to the ground. One shackled foot pulled the other with it, and he flopped onto his side. The earth was soft against his scales, at least, which was better than the alternative. \n\nThe slave-hunter picked up his spear and loomed over him. Arga glared up at him, shaking his head. \n\n“Satisfied?” he muttered. \n\n“Not yet…but I think I might be able to make plenty of money from you.”\n\n“Rrrrr…”\n\n“I told you. Do not talk back. And do not threaten your masters.”\n\nThe spear came down again, and this time, it knocked him out cold. \n\n#\n\nHe woke up tied to one of the guar. Not on it, but dragged behind it. His back ached from who knew how many rocks he’d been dragged over, and he grunted as he rolled onto his side, then his stomach. \n\n“Nnngh…by the Hist…”\n\n“Finally awake, are you?” the Dunmer called. “This is what happens when you defy your place.”\n\n“Shut up…”\n\n“That’s another beating tonight.”\n\nGritting his teeth, Arga focused on keeping his mouth shut. His head still hurt and his brain was still rattled around by the last blow. He doubted that he’d be able to take too many of those in succession. \n\nBesides, the first thing that he needed to do was get off the ground. The guar wasn’t stopping, and the elf wasn’t doing anything to help him up. Clearly, if he was going to avoid getting his face scraped off and his scales worn raw, he was going to have to get himself upright again. \n\nIt took three attempts, but eventually, he was able to bring his knees forward at a bump and get his feet under him. He jumped up, barely managing to catch his balance, and commenced a fast-shuffle of a walk to keep from falling down again. His bound arms were pulled forward, dragged ahead of him, and – \n\nAnd they were approaching a village, he realized. The sight of various houses and more loomed ahead, just over the hill they were about to descend. He gasped as he realized just how far they must have traveled already. \n\n“What –”\n\n“Andrethis,” his captor said, shrugging. “Where we’ll be fixing those shackles of yours.”\n\n“Fixing?”\n\n“Slaves aren’t allowed magic. You are going to have yours bound away, properly. That should not have happened last night.”\n\nShouldn’t have – he shut that thought down before it could go anywhere else. If he wasn’t supposed to have magic, then he wasn’t going to start talking about how this was normal for him. It might be the only tool that he’d keep. \n\n[i]The shackles are supposed to keep the magicka bound up in me…or keep me away from it…[/i]\n\nOr something like that. However it worked, it was meant to keep slaves from casting spells, and that meant that his meager accomplishment last night had been enough to break through the standard restraints that the hunter had on him. Which was why they were visiting a specialist, someone that could bind him better. \n\nDespite himself, he felt…proud. There was little to be proud of, but the fact that his magicka was deep enough and powerful enough to get through basic bindings made him feel better about himself. \n\nThey descended from the hilltop to the small town. Filled with perhaps fifty buildings, it was large enough to support a decent number of people. Arga walked and hopped along behind the guar, and as he did, he realized something else. \n\nThe dark elves that populated Andrethis were better dressed than any of the soldiers that he had seen along the border, or the raiders that sometimes came through and looked for slaves of their own. These ones were dressed in luscious silks, long dresses, and robes that had finery and symbols on them that clearly meant something to each other. There were Dunmer that bowed and Dunmer that looked down on others, and the clothing and finery seemed to be the marks of status that set the rules that everyone else obeyed. \n\nYet, as they walked through, he was the one that everyone turned to stare at. They saw his captor first, then they saw him. And they…stared. \n\nAnd as they stared, he felt the same sort of disdain, the same sort of helpless energy, that he had felt in the rope bindings all those years ago. This time, however, that helplessness was tainted with something else. \n\n[i]This is where you belong…[/i]\n\nArga clenched his hands into fists, and one of the Dunmer women stepped back, hand to her chest. Another man stepped forward, putting himself between the elf woman and him and put his hand on a dagger hilt. \n\nThe Saxhleel’s captor chuckled, holding up a hand. \n\n“Don’t worry. This slave is completely restrained. He won’t try anything. And if he does, I’ll put him down myself.”\n\nWarning to him, reassurance to the crowd. Arga clenched his fists even tighter, then slowly forced himself to relax. The elves shook their heads, but moved on. \n\nAs they continued walking through the crowd, he realized that there were some few non-elves around. Khajiits, for the most part, but a few other Argonians, as well. Just like him, they were all shackled at the wrists and ankles, and some of the better-off ones wore collars, as well, tight metal bands that squeezed at the throat and had tags that hung down with names of elves on them. He shivered, looking away. \n\nThey had to pause at the center of town, waiting for a few other wagons and travelers to negotiate right of way. As Arga took advantage of the brief respite to rest his legs, he heard something else. Something…grunty, something pleasured. \n\n[i]Oh, no…[/i]\n\nHe didn’t want to look, but dark curiosity drove him. The Saxhleel turned to his left, looking down an alley between a shop and a house. On his knees in the middle of the alley, his collar locked to the shop outer wall, was another Saxhleel, one that was green-scaled from head to toe. Whatever stitches of clothing he might have once had were gone, and his cock hung down between his legs as a dark elf gripped his head-horns and humped his face. \n\nGluk. \n\nGluk. \n\nGluk. \n\nHe shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the din of the town, but as he stared at his marshbrother being face-fucked, he couldn’t help but hear it. Maybe it was just in his head, maybe it wasn’t even real, but it was there, nonetheless. \n\nThe dark elf pulled out, slapping a dark gray shaft against his fellow marshbrother’s face. The other Saxhleel grunted, taking it, no longer frowning or whimpering. He just…took it, his eyes broken and his face slack. \n\nDesperate for some explanation, he looked away. His captor glanced back at him, a faint smile on his face. \n\n“That…that…”\n\n“One of many uses for slaves,” the elf said. “And one that all of you will experience, when you cease obeying orders.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Some few deviants find it amusing to enjoy you, to command you the way that no elf might order another around,” the slave-hunter said as the crowd started moving once more. “They’re sick, of course. But it’s accepted that it happens.”\n\n“…”\n\n“But maybe your buyer will be different. Or maybe he’ll decide that is [i]all[/i] he wants from you.”\n\nA shiver ran up and down his spine as he imagined someone tying him up like that. He had no problem laying with males; he had been with Geel-Sei several times, and he had a fondness for males and females alike, but that? That was horrifying. \n\nAnd yet…\n\n[i]I’m getting real tired of that thought…[/i]\n\n\nBut yet, there was something about being stared at as he walked through town. He couldn’t shake it. The way that the elves stared at him, the way that their eyes lingered on his body, the way that they judged him to [i]require[/i] this, to [i]deserve[/i] this…\n\nIt sent shiver after shiver down his spine, and he didn’t know what to do with it. \n\nThey kept walking, and he dropped his eyes to the cobblestone streets, not wanting to think of what that might mean. He didn’t want this…but there was a part of him that was enjoying it, just like he had enjoyed Geel-Sei sitting on his chest and teasing him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. \n\nEventually, they reached a smithy at the far end of the town. The dark elf led the guar off to the side of the road, tied them down, and undid the rope around Arga’s chains. A single look was enough to remind him not to try and run. His pounding headache backed that up, and he knew better than to make the attempt. \n\nThey rounded the smithy to find another dark elf on the far side. The blacksmith looked up as they approached, his lips pulling up in a sneer when he saw Arga, and then to a smile when he saw the elf. \n\n“Lenam, heh. Been a while,” the smith said. “What brings you here? Another slave to sell?”\n\n“Another one to outfit.”\n\n“Collaring him already?”\n\n“Hardly; I need a better set of shackles.”\n\n“Told you not to skimp on the cheap shit.”\n\n“You know me better than that, Arethi,” Lenam said, shaking his head. “This is standard equipment. This one’s strong enough to push through it.”\n\n“He – what?!”\n\n“So don’t give me the cheap stuff. Give me the best you have.”\n\n“…This one? This thing?”\n\n“Yes, this one. You open for a fitting or not?”\n\n“I – well, yes –”\n\n“Good.”\n\nAs Arethi stepped back into the building attached to the smithy, Arga turned his attention back to Lenam. He finally had a name for his captor. \n\n“This is how this is going to go. You are going to be very, very still, and I’m going to hold my spear to your throat. The first time I see any sign of magicka, I am going to give you a warning cut. That cut will leave half your body paralyzed. If you try it again, I will kill you.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Do you understand?”\n\n“…Yes.”\n\n“Good. Arethi’s going to bleed me dry enough for this anyway; I don’t need you causing more problems.”\n\nHe almost felt like someone’s pet being dragged around Morrowind. It wasn’t that he was supposed to be liked, but rather, that he was supposed to behave. The better he behaved, the better chance that he had of getting a good owner when this was all said and done, but there was no getting away from being owned in the first place. Freedom, as far as he could tell, was impossible if he couldn’t get away. \n\nAnd Lenam, unfortunately, was a good enough fighter that he doubted that he was ever going to get away. \n\nArethi returned. One by one, the shackles came off, turned and twisted in a certain way by the slave-hunter. They were piled off to the side, and Lenam dragged him to the anvil by the shoulder. The blade of the spear rested against the side of his neck the whole time, reminding him of the consequences of any defiance. \n\nArga held very, very still as the smith took him by the wrists. The leather gloves were rough, but it was the elf that flinched as he squeezed and measured them. \n\n“Ugh. Scaly beast…”\n\n“They’re useful enough,” Lenam said, shrugging. \n\n“Only if you don’t care about the quality. Beasts can’t do anything better than a child, and I’d trust a child sooner than them.”\n\n“Just do the job I asked you to.”\n\n“The one that you’re paying me to do, you mean,” the smith muttered. “You better have plenty of Drakes for this.”\n\n“All I have are septims.”\n\n“You’re paying double, then.”\n\n“10% more, and you better not charge more than that.”\n\n“Hmmph.”\n\nArga clenched his jaws shut, keeping anything that he might have said inside. The smith stroked his wrists, measured them, held the metal to his scales, and then took them away. Arethi made a few notes, then gestured nearby. \n\n“Lay him down; gonna need to get the ankles, too.”\n\nAs he laid down, Arga couldn’t help but feel just a little…strange. It was like the helplessness and the humiliation of being marched through town all but naked, but all focused on one part of him. He didn’t know why or how it got to him the way that it did, but as the elf grabbed and squeezed his ankles, it felt…\n\nArousing. \n\n[i]Why? Why is this…[/i]\n\nHis cheeks burned a little hotter as he realized that his shaft was starting to twitch beneath his loincloth. He kept his mouth shut, not daring to speak up or even move to hide it, and just tried to think of something else. \n\n“Hmmph. This one’s stronger than he looks,” Arethi muttered. “Thick muscles in the calf. Large feet, too.”\n\nThey talked about him the way that he might have talked about a fish or a kill in the swamp. It…felt strange. Degrading, humiliating, yes, but there was that focus, that fascination, and…\n\nHe didn’t want to think about it. Arga closed his eyes, focusing on just obeying what he was told to do.\n\nOnce more, the smith continued to feel, fondle, and squeeze. He ran his hands over the Saxhleel’s ankles, down to his heels, and even along his soles. There was a quiet chat between the elves about whether Lenam wanted to have him fitted for temporary shoes, but the slave-hunter turned it down. \n\n“He’ll be a slave one way or another,” the hunter said. “Might as well get used to being barefoot. As if the beasts ever wear anything…”\n\nThe metal pressed against his ankles, tighter than the original shackles. He held his breath, fear leaping up and getting shoved back down. There was no place for that; he had to obey, if he wanted to keep from being paralyzed. \n\n“Alright. This shouldn’t take long,” Arethi said after he was done. “Gimme an hour.”\n\n“We’ll wait right here.”\n\n“You’ll drive off my business!”\n\n“I’m not concerned about that. I want those done, and I know what you’re like.”\n\n“…Fine, you bastard…”\n\n#\n\n[i]One hour later…[/i]\n\nArga looked down as the wrist shackles were slapped on. This time, there was no slack between the metal and his wrists; the shimmering bands were flush to him, and they were [i]far[/i] more powerful. \n\n“Sssss…” \n\n“Forgetting your language, lizard?” Lenam asked. \n\nHe didn’t hiss again, but he did clench his hands into tight fists at the sucking feeling that the shackles provided. It felt like there were leeches on his arms, pulling, sucking, draining him of as much magicka as they could get. They had to be two, three times as strong as the shackles that he had worn before, and they drained him of more than just magic; they were draining him of energy, of strength. \n\n“Stay still, you filthy beast,” Arethi muttered, kneeling down. “God, you lizards stink…”\n\nThe first little ‘click’ of the shackle going around his ankle sent a chill up his leg. It was the same sort of tight, restraining feeling that he’d gotten from the rope trap in the swamp, only worse. The cold metal was flush against his scales, and unlike the first pair of shackles, he could feel no seam in it. He looked down, eyes wide, and stared as the outer part of the band sealed against itself, forming a solid chunk of metal. \n\n[i]Oh…no…[/i]\n\nIt was worse than he’d thought. There was no way to remove the band without breaking it completely. He couldn’t just unhinge it or pick a lock; it was completely sealed, the metal heavy enough that he could already feel it pushing down on his feet. \n\nClick. \n\nThe other one followed, and the same draining feeling that ran down his arms ran down his legs, as well. He wobbled, barely able to stand on his feet as the continual magicka-drain affected him. \n\nSuck. \n\nSuck. \n\nSuck. \n\nThe feeling was almost like the sensation one would get if they spun their arm around for too long, where the blood pooled at one end of the limb and made everything feel wrong. That was how it felt to him, as if all his magicka had been pulled out of his middle and drawn to the metal bands, instead. They swelled and throbbed, leaving him with nothing…\n\nNo. Almost nothing. \n\nThere was still the faintest little sparkle of magicka in his core, the smallest little ember of light in the darkest hour. It was nothing, not even enough for the weakest of light spells, but it was still there. This enchantment wasn’t’ enough to take everything, not yet. It might one day drain this, but…\n\nBut he still had something. \n\n“Well?” Lenam asked. \n\n“What do you mean, ‘well’? He’s fitted, isn’t he?”\n\n“Yes, but is everything sealed away?”\n\n“Lenam, a Telvanni hireling wouldn’t be able to cast spells with that on ‘em. You really think a beast is going to get out?”\n\n“I didn’t think he would get out of the first set. Is he sealed, or isn’t he?”\n\n“I can’t…I can’t…” \n\nArga leaned into the weakness that was already plaguing him. It wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t stop himself from falling over, but it was easy to play into it and pretend that it was that bad. He bumped into the anvil near him, and Arethi snarled. \n\n“Get that thing out of my smithy! And pay up, Lenam.”\n\n#\n\nThey stopped some way further up the road. Arga was exhausted, but at least he’d managed to keep the last of his magicka a secret. It was useless right now, but perhaps, one day, it would be the thing that saved him. At the very least, there was some hint of power still in him, even if it was less than nothing. \n\nLenam sat across the campsite, spear over his shoulder, eyes on the fire. Every so often, he would look up from the flames, meet the Saxhleel’s eyes, and then look away. Arga didn’t know why the elf was less aggressive tonight, but – \n\n“You’re going to one of the Telvanni,” Lenam said. \n\n“…What?”\n\n“I just decided. I’m taking you to the Telvanni. The House of mages.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Which means that we’re going to have to take another stop,” he said, putting his spear down at his side. “The Telvanni have certain…tastes…and I won’t get the best price for you without getting you marked.”\n\n“M-marked?”\n\n“We’ll stop at one of the pleasure dens on the way north. I suggest that you make your peace with being someone’s toy. It’s happening sooner than later.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Sleep, beast. I’ll let you skip the beating; tomorrow’s going to be bad enough for you.”\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]\n\nSummary: Another chapter in the prequel of Arga’s slavery, and showing a little more of the roughness and weirdness therein, as well as some of Arga’s confusion while it’s still somewhat mild. \n\nTags: M/solo, No Sex, Weird Arousal, Racism, Slavery, Speciesism, Morrowind, Argonian, Dunmer, Dark Elf, Humiliation, Exhibitionism, M/M, Oral, Forced, Noncon, Bondage, \n"
},
".description.json": {
"description": "Another chapter in the prequel of Arga’s slavery, and showing a little more of the roughness and weirdness therein, as well as some of Arga’s confusion while it’s still somewhat mild. \n\nCommissioned by Lightsun168\n\nIf you want to get a commission for yourself, keep an eye on my journals and my twitter DraconiconWrite or bluesky https://bsky.app/profile/dracthewriter.bsky.social for updates on when I'm open.\n\nAlways eager to see comments, so please leave one if the mood strikes you.\n\nEnjoy."
},
".writing.json": {
"writing": "[b][u][center]The Journey to Slavery\nPart 2\nFor Lightsun168\nBy Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIt was colder when he opened his eyes. The flicker of a campfire told him that enough time had passed that he was no longer anywhere near the river. Arga groaned, trying to reach up and rub his face, only to find that he couldn’t. \n\nMemories flashed by. The river, the swim, the sparring, Geel-Sei dying. All of it flitted through his mind in a flash, and he gasped, opening his eyes with panicked twitches. \n\n“Don’t start thrashing about, lizard,” the voice of the slave trader muttered, coming from across the campfire. “You aren’t getting out of those, and you aren’t getting free anytime soon.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Settle down for the night and I won’t have to beat you again.”\n\nArga blinked through the sleep-haze over his eyes, the Saxhleel slowly making out the shape of the dark elf on the other side of the campfire. He was leaning back against a rock, the guars from before tied down and grazing the stubble of old, dead grass behind him. There was nothing to be seen in the hazy darkness that was the beginning of night. Nothing but dust and earthy hills, at least. \n\nThe Saxhleel looked down at his hands. They were tied together, shackled with a thin metal chain and glimmering enchantments in the metal bands. He couldn’t pull his hands more than an inch apart before he started dragging the other arm along with it, which meant that his hands were all but useless. \n\nHe looked further down. His ankles were restrained in similar fashion, though with a few more inches of slack. Not much more, though. He’d be hobbling along with those, and he doubted that he’d be able to run. Not far, at least, and not quickly at all. \n\n“You got magic,” the dark elf said, tossing a stick in the fire. “Been using that long, lizard?”\n\n“…”\n\n“You’re gonna want to answer that. The more that I know about you, the better I can sell you.”\n\n“Why would I cooperate with that?”\n\n“Simple. The better you are, the more money I get, and the more money I get, the better I treat you before I sell you. Less marks, less beatings. But if all you are is some random bit of scale, then all I gotta do is get you there alive.” \n\nThe Dunmer looked up from the fire, his red eyes fixing on Arga’s. The Saxhleel tried to meet that stare, but the sheer disregard for him was just…too much. He looked down and away, staring at the sand between his toes. \n\n“So, I’ll ask again. You been using that magic for long?”\n\n“…A few years,” he said. \n\n“Know many spells?”\n\n“…Some.”\n\n“Anything but fire?”\n\nHe nodded. \n\n“Which?”\n\n“…Enough.”\n\nThe Dunmer sighed and stood up. He used his spear like a walking stick, but Arga still remembered the slave-hunter’s speed. He’d outdone Geel-Sei as if it was nothing, and Arga doubted that he could react fast enough to stop him if a beating was imminent. He pulled his knees against his chest, lowering his head and looking down at the ground. \n\n“Alright, lizard, let’s get this clear. You ever seen another slave before?”\n\nArga shook his head. \n\n“Here in Morrowind, there’s a bunch of ‘em. You know that, probably. Once you stepped over the line, slavery was legal. The Empire might have a lot of shit to say about how and why and where it works, but here? We do it our way. The Houses run everything, and they all agree that slaves are allowed. \n\n“Thing is, if you were anything but a lizard or a cat, you might have had a chance. But you?” The Dunmer shook his head. “It was never going to happen.”\n\n“What’s going to happen to me?” Arga asked. \n\n“Now you want to talk?”\n\n“I want to know,” he muttered, looking up. “Even if you don’t think that I deserve to be treated like an elf, I do.”\n\n“You’re wrong.”\n\nIt was like a fist to the face. Not even a laugh, just a callous, casual statement that Arga didn’t deserve the same sort of kindness or care that anyone else would get. He would have been able to take mockery, but this…\n\nIt was like having someone explaining to a hatchling, like it was some simple rule that they hadn’t understood yet. The casualness chilled him to the bone, and left him shaking anew. \n\n“Lizards aren’t people. Never have been, never will. The Empire pretends, I suppose, so that it can keep getting tribute from your marshes, but they understand. Or enough of them do, anyway. Not the point here.\n\n“Here’s how this is going to go. You and I are going to travel for a while. The more you tell me about you, the faster I figure out the best buyer to take you to. You do whatever I tell you, you make sure that you never talk back, and if you try and run, I will catch you and I will punish you.”\n\nArga growled. He got the butt of the spear to his chin for his troubles, smacking his head to the side hard enough that his teeth rattled. As he grabbed his face, huffing through clenched teeth, the Dunmer forced his head up with the bladed end of the spear. \n\n“Consider that your warning. You [i]are[/i] going to be taken to a buyer. You can pretend that it won’t happen if you want, but it won’t stop reality. You [i]are[/i] a slave now. There is no going back.”\n\nHissing through his pain, Arga forced himself to meet those red eyes properly. He wanted to be angry, furious, something that would make the elf afraid. More than anything, he wanted to be something that wasn’t so small in the other man’s eyes, something that could be pushed around without consequence. \n\nBut there was no fear there. If anything, there was a faint interest in the possibilities that Arga represented, but that was as much as he could see. \n\nThe Dunmer eventually removed the spear, shaking his head as he lowered the blunt end to the ground. Arga continued to rub his face. \n\n“What spells can you cast, lizard?”\n\n“…Fire, lightning, and ice,” he muttered. “A bit of paralysis…if I can touch someone…and a spell of deafness…”\n\n“Five spells, then. And yet you were stupid enough to use fire. I suppose a beast will never be better than a beast.”\n\nArga clenched his hands into fists.\n\n“You want to hurt me, don’t you?” \n\n“Yes.”\n\n“Try.”\n\nHe whipped his head up. The Dunmer tossed his spear to the side. \n\n“I want you to understand how useless it is. Try and hurt me. Use your fists, your magic, anything. But try.”\n\nIt was a trap, but it was also the only chance that Arga was likely to get. Without hesitation, he leaped to his feet, trying to ram his shoulder into the elf’s stomach. \n\nHe missed, of course. The slave-hunter side-stepped him, but Arga was already spinning, tail low. The elf jumped over it, bringing his leg around with a casual kick that caught the Saxhleel in the hip. He stumbled to the side, barely catching himself with the chains around his ankles. \n\n“Quick reflexes,” the elf said. “Surprising. All the mages of your kind that I’ve seen have been less than…stellar.”\n\n“Mmmph…”\n\n“You can take a hit, too. Hmmm. And yet, you’re not fighting back yet.”\n\nArga was trying to think of the best move. The elf was fast, faster than he could keep up with. Geel-Sei had been cut down easily, but it was more than just this man being a better warrior. This hunter knew how to read him, how to figure out what he was going to do. If they were fighting with weapons, he’d be dead already. \n\nAnd if he fought with magicka…\n\n[i]Lightning would be fast enough…maybe…[/i]\n\nThe elf rolled his eyes and started to reach for his spear. It was no or never; once that weapon was up, he wasn’t going to have a chance. \n\nArga grabbed for his magicka. It was faint, barely there. The power that had always been part of him, the energy that sung in his veins like the Hist in his head was down to embers, barely more than the faintest coals compared to the fire that it had always been. But it was still there, whispering to him. \n\nThe elf was about to grab the spear when the magicka rippled down his arms. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, little more than the tiniest sparks, but it was enough to make the elf’s ears twitch. He whipped his head around as Arga brought his hands up – \n\n“GAH!”\n\nIt was no more than a weak spark, but it still shot from his fingertips and hit the elf in the chest. The Dunmer stumbled back a pace, hissing as he grabbed at his left arm. It was no more than pain, though; Arga could tell that he’d barely had enough energy to force the spell from his hand, let alone do any real damage. \n\nHe stumbled back, huffing for breath as the exertion nearly took him to his knees. He lowered his hands in front of him, his chin falling against his chest. Sweat beaded along his scales, and his heart hammered against his chest. \n\n“…You should not have been able to do that,” the elf said. \n\n“…Surprised you…”\n\n“Yes, you did. Hmm. That will change things.”\n\nSo much for getting away. Arga’s left leg went out from under him, and he fell to the ground. One shackled foot pulled the other with it, and he flopped onto his side. The earth was soft against his scales, at least, which was better than the alternative. \n\nThe slave-hunter picked up his spear and loomed over him. Arga glared up at him, shaking his head. \n\n“Satisfied?” he muttered. \n\n“Not yet…but I think I might be able to make plenty of money from you.”\n\n“Rrrrr…”\n\n“I told you. Do not talk back. And do not threaten your masters.”\n\nThe spear came down again, and this time, it knocked him out cold. \n\n#\n\nHe woke up tied to one of the guar. Not on it, but dragged behind it. His back ached from who knew how many rocks he’d been dragged over, and he grunted as he rolled onto his side, then his stomach. \n\n“Nnngh…by the Hist…”\n\n“Finally awake, are you?” the Dunmer called. “This is what happens when you defy your place.”\n\n“Shut up…”\n\n“That’s another beating tonight.”\n\nGritting his teeth, Arga focused on keeping his mouth shut. His head still hurt and his brain was still rattled around by the last blow. He doubted that he’d be able to take too many of those in succession. \n\nBesides, the first thing that he needed to do was get off the ground. The guar wasn’t stopping, and the elf wasn’t doing anything to help him up. Clearly, if he was going to avoid getting his face scraped off and his scales worn raw, he was going to have to get himself upright again. \n\nIt took three attempts, but eventually, he was able to bring his knees forward at a bump and get his feet under him. He jumped up, barely managing to catch his balance, and commenced a fast-shuffle of a walk to keep from falling down again. His bound arms were pulled forward, dragged ahead of him, and – \n\nAnd they were approaching a village, he realized. The sight of various houses and more loomed ahead, just over the hill they were about to descend. He gasped as he realized just how far they must have traveled already. \n\n“What –”\n\n“Andrethis,” his captor said, shrugging. “Where we’ll be fixing those shackles of yours.”\n\n“Fixing?”\n\n“Slaves aren’t allowed magic. You are going to have yours bound away, properly. That should not have happened last night.”\n\nShouldn’t have – he shut that thought down before it could go anywhere else. If he wasn’t supposed to have magic, then he wasn’t going to start talking about how this was normal for him. It might be the only tool that he’d keep. \n\n[i]The shackles are supposed to keep the magicka bound up in me…or keep me away from it…[/i]\n\nOr something like that. However it worked, it was meant to keep slaves from casting spells, and that meant that his meager accomplishment last night had been enough to break through the standard restraints that the hunter had on him. Which was why they were visiting a specialist, someone that could bind him better. \n\nDespite himself, he felt…proud. There was little to be proud of, but the fact that his magicka was deep enough and powerful enough to get through basic bindings made him feel better about himself. \n\nThey descended from the hilltop to the small town. Filled with perhaps fifty buildings, it was large enough to support a decent number of people. Arga walked and hopped along behind the guar, and as he did, he realized something else. \n\nThe dark elves that populated Andrethis were better dressed than any of the soldiers that he had seen along the border, or the raiders that sometimes came through and looked for slaves of their own. These ones were dressed in luscious silks, long dresses, and robes that had finery and symbols on them that clearly meant something to each other. There were Dunmer that bowed and Dunmer that looked down on others, and the clothing and finery seemed to be the marks of status that set the rules that everyone else obeyed. \n\nYet, as they walked through, he was the one that everyone turned to stare at. They saw his captor first, then they saw him. And they…stared. \n\nAnd as they stared, he felt the same sort of disdain, the same sort of helpless energy, that he had felt in the rope bindings all those years ago. This time, however, that helplessness was tainted with something else. \n\n[i]This is where you belong…[/i]\n\nArga clenched his hands into fists, and one of the Dunmer women stepped back, hand to her chest. Another man stepped forward, putting himself between the elf woman and him and put his hand on a dagger hilt. \n\nThe Saxhleel’s captor chuckled, holding up a hand. \n\n“Don’t worry. This slave is completely restrained. He won’t try anything. And if he does, I’ll put him down myself.”\n\nWarning to him, reassurance to the crowd. Arga clenched his fists even tighter, then slowly forced himself to relax. The elves shook their heads, but moved on. \n\nAs they continued walking through the crowd, he realized that there were some few non-elves around. Khajiits, for the most part, but a few other Argonians, as well. Just like him, they were all shackled at the wrists and ankles, and some of the better-off ones wore collars, as well, tight metal bands that squeezed at the throat and had tags that hung down with names of elves on them. He shivered, looking away. \n\nThey had to pause at the center of town, waiting for a few other wagons and travelers to negotiate right of way. As Arga took advantage of the brief respite to rest his legs, he heard something else. Something…grunty, something pleasured. \n\n[i]Oh, no…[/i]\n\nHe didn’t want to look, but dark curiosity drove him. The Saxhleel turned to his left, looking down an alley between a shop and a house. On his knees in the middle of the alley, his collar locked to the shop outer wall, was another Saxhleel, one that was green-scaled from head to toe. Whatever stitches of clothing he might have once had were gone, and his cock hung down between his legs as a dark elf gripped his head-horns and humped his face. \n\nGluk. \n\nGluk. \n\nGluk. \n\nHe shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the din of the town, but as he stared at his marshbrother being face-fucked, he couldn’t help but hear it. Maybe it was just in his head, maybe it wasn’t even real, but it was there, nonetheless. \n\nThe dark elf pulled out, slapping a dark gray shaft against his fellow marshbrother’s face. The other Saxhleel grunted, taking it, no longer frowning or whimpering. He just…took it, his eyes broken and his face slack. \n\nDesperate for some explanation, he looked away. His captor glanced back at him, a faint smile on his face. \n\n“That…that…”\n\n“One of many uses for slaves,” the elf said. “And one that all of you will experience, when you cease obeying orders.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Some few deviants find it amusing to enjoy you, to command you the way that no elf might order another around,” the slave-hunter said as the crowd started moving once more. “They’re sick, of course. But it’s accepted that it happens.”\n\n“…”\n\n“But maybe your buyer will be different. Or maybe he’ll decide that is [i]all[/i] he wants from you.”\n\nA shiver ran up and down his spine as he imagined someone tying him up like that. He had no problem laying with males; he had been with Geel-Sei several times, and he had a fondness for males and females alike, but that? That was horrifying. \n\nAnd yet…\n\n[i]I’m getting real tired of that thought…[/i]\n\n\nBut yet, there was something about being stared at as he walked through town. He couldn’t shake it. The way that the elves stared at him, the way that their eyes lingered on his body, the way that they judged him to [i]require[/i] this, to [i]deserve[/i] this…\n\nIt sent shiver after shiver down his spine, and he didn’t know what to do with it. \n\nThey kept walking, and he dropped his eyes to the cobblestone streets, not wanting to think of what that might mean. He didn’t want this…but there was a part of him that was enjoying it, just like he had enjoyed Geel-Sei sitting on his chest and teasing him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. \n\nEventually, they reached a smithy at the far end of the town. The dark elf led the guar off to the side of the road, tied them down, and undid the rope around Arga’s chains. A single look was enough to remind him not to try and run. His pounding headache backed that up, and he knew better than to make the attempt. \n\nThey rounded the smithy to find another dark elf on the far side. The blacksmith looked up as they approached, his lips pulling up in a sneer when he saw Arga, and then to a smile when he saw the elf. \n\n“Lenam, heh. Been a while,” the smith said. “What brings you here? Another slave to sell?”\n\n“Another one to outfit.”\n\n“Collaring him already?”\n\n“Hardly; I need a better set of shackles.”\n\n“Told you not to skimp on the cheap shit.”\n\n“You know me better than that, Arethi,” Lenam said, shaking his head. “This is standard equipment. This one’s strong enough to push through it.”\n\n“He – what?!”\n\n“So don’t give me the cheap stuff. Give me the best you have.”\n\n“…This one? This thing?”\n\n“Yes, this one. You open for a fitting or not?”\n\n“I – well, yes –”\n\n“Good.”\n\nAs Arethi stepped back into the building attached to the smithy, Arga turned his attention back to Lenam. He finally had a name for his captor. \n\n“This is how this is going to go. You are going to be very, very still, and I’m going to hold my spear to your throat. The first time I see any sign of magicka, I am going to give you a warning cut. That cut will leave half your body paralyzed. If you try it again, I will kill you.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Do you understand?”\n\n“…Yes.”\n\n“Good. Arethi’s going to bleed me dry enough for this anyway; I don’t need you causing more problems.”\n\nHe almost felt like someone’s pet being dragged around Morrowind. It wasn’t that he was supposed to be liked, but rather, that he was supposed to behave. The better he behaved, the better chance that he had of getting a good owner when this was all said and done, but there was no getting away from being owned in the first place. Freedom, as far as he could tell, was impossible if he couldn’t get away. \n\nAnd Lenam, unfortunately, was a good enough fighter that he doubted that he was ever going to get away. \n\nArethi returned. One by one, the shackles came off, turned and twisted in a certain way by the slave-hunter. They were piled off to the side, and Lenam dragged him to the anvil by the shoulder. The blade of the spear rested against the side of his neck the whole time, reminding him of the consequences of any defiance. \n\nArga held very, very still as the smith took him by the wrists. The leather gloves were rough, but it was the elf that flinched as he squeezed and measured them. \n\n“Ugh. Scaly beast…”\n\n“They’re useful enough,” Lenam said, shrugging. \n\n“Only if you don’t care about the quality. Beasts can’t do anything better than a child, and I’d trust a child sooner than them.”\n\n“Just do the job I asked you to.”\n\n“The one that you’re paying me to do, you mean,” the smith muttered. “You better have plenty of Drakes for this.”\n\n“All I have are septims.”\n\n“You’re paying double, then.”\n\n“10% more, and you better not charge more than that.”\n\n“Hmmph.”\n\nArga clenched his jaws shut, keeping anything that he might have said inside. The smith stroked his wrists, measured them, held the metal to his scales, and then took them away. Arethi made a few notes, then gestured nearby. \n\n“Lay him down; gonna need to get the ankles, too.”\n\nAs he laid down, Arga couldn’t help but feel just a little…strange. It was like the helplessness and the humiliation of being marched through town all but naked, but all focused on one part of him. He didn’t know why or how it got to him the way that it did, but as the elf grabbed and squeezed his ankles, it felt…\n\nArousing. \n\n[i]Why? Why is this…[/i]\n\nHis cheeks burned a little hotter as he realized that his shaft was starting to twitch beneath his loincloth. He kept his mouth shut, not daring to speak up or even move to hide it, and just tried to think of something else. \n\n“Hmmph. This one’s stronger than he looks,” Arethi muttered. “Thick muscles in the calf. Large feet, too.”\n\nThey talked about him the way that he might have talked about a fish or a kill in the swamp. It…felt strange. Degrading, humiliating, yes, but there was that focus, that fascination, and…\n\nHe didn’t want to think about it. Arga closed his eyes, focusing on just obeying what he was told to do.\n\nOnce more, the smith continued to feel, fondle, and squeeze. He ran his hands over the Saxhleel’s ankles, down to his heels, and even along his soles. There was a quiet chat between the elves about whether Lenam wanted to have him fitted for temporary shoes, but the slave-hunter turned it down. \n\n“He’ll be a slave one way or another,” the hunter said. “Might as well get used to being barefoot. As if the beasts ever wear anything…”\n\nThe metal pressed against his ankles, tighter than the original shackles. He held his breath, fear leaping up and getting shoved back down. There was no place for that; he had to obey, if he wanted to keep from being paralyzed. \n\n“Alright. This shouldn’t take long,” Arethi said after he was done. “Gimme an hour.”\n\n“We’ll wait right here.”\n\n“You’ll drive off my business!”\n\n“I’m not concerned about that. I want those done, and I know what you’re like.”\n\n“…Fine, you bastard…”\n\n#\n\n[i]One hour later…[/i]\n\nArga looked down as the wrist shackles were slapped on. This time, there was no slack between the metal and his wrists; the shimmering bands were flush to him, and they were [i]far[/i] more powerful. \n\n“Sssss…” \n\n“Forgetting your language, lizard?” Lenam asked. \n\nHe didn’t hiss again, but he did clench his hands into tight fists at the sucking feeling that the shackles provided. It felt like there were leeches on his arms, pulling, sucking, draining him of as much magicka as they could get. They had to be two, three times as strong as the shackles that he had worn before, and they drained him of more than just magic; they were draining him of energy, of strength. \n\n“Stay still, you filthy beast,” Arethi muttered, kneeling down. “God, you lizards stink…”\n\nThe first little ‘click’ of the shackle going around his ankle sent a chill up his leg. It was the same sort of tight, restraining feeling that he’d gotten from the rope trap in the swamp, only worse. The cold metal was flush against his scales, and unlike the first pair of shackles, he could feel no seam in it. He looked down, eyes wide, and stared as the outer part of the band sealed against itself, forming a solid chunk of metal. \n\n[i]Oh…no…[/i]\n\nIt was worse than he’d thought. There was no way to remove the band without breaking it completely. He couldn’t just unhinge it or pick a lock; it was completely sealed, the metal heavy enough that he could already feel it pushing down on his feet. \n\nClick. \n\nThe other one followed, and the same draining feeling that ran down his arms ran down his legs, as well. He wobbled, barely able to stand on his feet as the continual magicka-drain affected him. \n\nSuck. \n\nSuck. \n\nSuck. \n\nThe feeling was almost like the sensation one would get if they spun their arm around for too long, where the blood pooled at one end of the limb and made everything feel wrong. That was how it felt to him, as if all his magicka had been pulled out of his middle and drawn to the metal bands, instead. They swelled and throbbed, leaving him with nothing…\n\nNo. Almost nothing. \n\nThere was still the faintest little sparkle of magicka in his core, the smallest little ember of light in the darkest hour. It was nothing, not even enough for the weakest of light spells, but it was still there. This enchantment wasn’t’ enough to take everything, not yet. It might one day drain this, but…\n\nBut he still had something. \n\n“Well?” Lenam asked. \n\n“What do you mean, ‘well’? He’s fitted, isn’t he?”\n\n“Yes, but is everything sealed away?”\n\n“Lenam, a Telvanni hireling wouldn’t be able to cast spells with that on ‘em. You really think a beast is going to get out?”\n\n“I didn’t think he would get out of the first set. Is he sealed, or isn’t he?”\n\n“I can’t…I can’t…” \n\nArga leaned into the weakness that was already plaguing him. It wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t stop himself from falling over, but it was easy to play into it and pretend that it was that bad. He bumped into the anvil near him, and Arethi snarled. \n\n“Get that thing out of my smithy! And pay up, Lenam.”\n\n#\n\nThey stopped some way further up the road. Arga was exhausted, but at least he’d managed to keep the last of his magicka a secret. It was useless right now, but perhaps, one day, it would be the thing that saved him. At the very least, there was some hint of power still in him, even if it was less than nothing. \n\nLenam sat across the campsite, spear over his shoulder, eyes on the fire. Every so often, he would look up from the flames, meet the Saxhleel’s eyes, and then look away. Arga didn’t know why the elf was less aggressive tonight, but – \n\n“You’re going to one of the Telvanni,” Lenam said. \n\n“…What?”\n\n“I just decided. I’m taking you to the Telvanni. The House of mages.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Which means that we’re going to have to take another stop,” he said, putting his spear down at his side. “The Telvanni have certain…tastes…and I won’t get the best price for you without getting you marked.”\n\n“M-marked?”\n\n“We’ll stop at one of the pleasure dens on the way north. I suggest that you make your peace with being someone’s toy. It’s happening sooner than later.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Sleep, beast. I’ll let you skip the beating; tomorrow’s going to be bad enough for you.”\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]\n\nSummary: Another chapter in the prequel of Arga’s slavery, and showing a little more of the roughness and weirdness therein, as well as some of Arga’s confusion while it’s still somewhat mild. \n\nTags: M/solo, No Sex, Weird Arousal, Racism, Slavery, Speciesism, Morrowind, Argonian, Dunmer, Dark Elf, Humiliation, Exhibitionism, M/M, Oral, Forced, Noncon, Bondage, \n"
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"writing": "[b][u][center]The Journey to Slavery\nPart 2\nFor Lightsun168\nBy Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIt was colder when he opened his eyes. The flicker of a campfire told him that enough time had passed that he was no longer anywhere near the river. Arga groaned, trying to reach up and rub his face, only to find that he couldn’t. \n\nMemories flashed by. The river, the swim, the sparring, Geel-Sei dying. All of it flitted through his mind in a flash, and he gasped, opening his eyes with panicked twitches. \n\n“Don’t start thrashing about, lizard,” the voice of the slave trader muttered, coming from across the campfire. “You aren’t getting out of those, and you aren’t getting free anytime soon.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Settle down for the night and I won’t have to beat you again.”\n\nArga blinked through the sleep-haze over his eyes, the Saxhleel slowly making out the shape of the dark elf on the other side of the campfire. He was leaning back against a rock, the guars from before tied down and grazing the stubble of old, dead grass behind him. There was nothing to be seen in the hazy darkness that was the beginning of night. Nothing but dust and earthy hills, at least. \n\nThe Saxhleel looked down at his hands. They were tied together, shackled with a thin metal chain and glimmering enchantments in the metal bands. He couldn’t pull his hands more than an inch apart before he started dragging the other arm along with it, which meant that his hands were all but useless. \n\nHe looked further down. His ankles were restrained in similar fashion, though with a few more inches of slack. Not much more, though. He’d be hobbling along with those, and he doubted that he’d be able to run. Not far, at least, and not quickly at all. \n\n“You got magic,” the dark elf said, tossing a stick in the fire. “Been using that long, lizard?”\n\n“…”\n\n“You’re gonna want to answer that. The more that I know about you, the better I can sell you.”\n\n“Why would I cooperate with that?”\n\n“Simple. The better you are, the more money I get, and the more money I get, the better I treat you before I sell you. Less marks, less beatings. But if all you are is some random bit of scale, then all I gotta do is get you there alive.” \n\nThe Dunmer looked up from the fire, his red eyes fixing on Arga’s. The Saxhleel tried to meet that stare, but the sheer disregard for him was just…too much. He looked down and away, staring at the sand between his toes. \n\n“So, I’ll ask again. You been using that magic for long?”\n\n“…A few years,” he said. \n\n“Know many spells?”\n\n“…Some.”\n\n“Anything but fire?”\n\nHe nodded. \n\n“Which?”\n\n“…Enough.”\n\nThe Dunmer sighed and stood up. He used his spear like a walking stick, but Arga still remembered the slave-hunter’s speed. He’d outdone Geel-Sei as if it was nothing, and Arga doubted that he could react fast enough to stop him if a beating was imminent. He pulled his knees against his chest, lowering his head and looking down at the ground. \n\n“Alright, lizard, let’s get this clear. You ever seen another slave before?”\n\nArga shook his head. \n\n“Here in Morrowind, there’s a bunch of ‘em. You know that, probably. Once you stepped over the line, slavery was legal. The Empire might have a lot of shit to say about how and why and where it works, but here? We do it our way. The Houses run everything, and they all agree that slaves are allowed. \n\n“Thing is, if you were anything but a lizard or a cat, you might have had a chance. But you?” The Dunmer shook his head. “It was never going to happen.”\n\n“What’s going to happen to me?” Arga asked. \n\n“Now you want to talk?”\n\n“I want to know,” he muttered, looking up. “Even if you don’t think that I deserve to be treated like an elf, I do.”\n\n“You’re wrong.”\n\nIt was like a fist to the face. Not even a laugh, just a callous, casual statement that Arga didn’t deserve the same sort of kindness or care that anyone else would get. He would have been able to take mockery, but this…\n\nIt was like having someone explaining to a hatchling, like it was some simple rule that they hadn’t understood yet. The casualness chilled him to the bone, and left him shaking anew. \n\n“Lizards aren’t people. Never have been, never will. The Empire pretends, I suppose, so that it can keep getting tribute from your marshes, but they understand. Or enough of them do, anyway. Not the point here.\n\n“Here’s how this is going to go. You and I are going to travel for a while. The more you tell me about you, the faster I figure out the best buyer to take you to. You do whatever I tell you, you make sure that you never talk back, and if you try and run, I will catch you and I will punish you.”\n\nArga growled. He got the butt of the spear to his chin for his troubles, smacking his head to the side hard enough that his teeth rattled. As he grabbed his face, huffing through clenched teeth, the Dunmer forced his head up with the bladed end of the spear. \n\n“Consider that your warning. You [i]are[/i] going to be taken to a buyer. You can pretend that it won’t happen if you want, but it won’t stop reality. You [i]are[/i] a slave now. There is no going back.”\n\nHissing through his pain, Arga forced himself to meet those red eyes properly. He wanted to be angry, furious, something that would make the elf afraid. More than anything, he wanted to be something that wasn’t so small in the other man’s eyes, something that could be pushed around without consequence. \n\nBut there was no fear there. If anything, there was a faint interest in the possibilities that Arga represented, but that was as much as he could see. \n\nThe Dunmer eventually removed the spear, shaking his head as he lowered the blunt end to the ground. Arga continued to rub his face. \n\n“What spells can you cast, lizard?”\n\n“…Fire, lightning, and ice,” he muttered. “A bit of paralysis…if I can touch someone…and a spell of deafness…”\n\n“Five spells, then. And yet you were stupid enough to use fire. I suppose a beast will never be better than a beast.”\n\nArga clenched his hands into fists.\n\n“You want to hurt me, don’t you?” \n\n“Yes.”\n\n“Try.”\n\nHe whipped his head up. The Dunmer tossed his spear to the side. \n\n“I want you to understand how useless it is. Try and hurt me. Use your fists, your magic, anything. But try.”\n\nIt was a trap, but it was also the only chance that Arga was likely to get. Without hesitation, he leaped to his feet, trying to ram his shoulder into the elf’s stomach. \n\nHe missed, of course. The slave-hunter side-stepped him, but Arga was already spinning, tail low. The elf jumped over it, bringing his leg around with a casual kick that caught the Saxhleel in the hip. He stumbled to the side, barely catching himself with the chains around his ankles. \n\n“Quick reflexes,” the elf said. “Surprising. All the mages of your kind that I’ve seen have been less than…stellar.”\n\n“Mmmph…”\n\n“You can take a hit, too. Hmmm. And yet, you’re not fighting back yet.”\n\nArga was trying to think of the best move. The elf was fast, faster than he could keep up with. Geel-Sei had been cut down easily, but it was more than just this man being a better warrior. This hunter knew how to read him, how to figure out what he was going to do. If they were fighting with weapons, he’d be dead already. \n\nAnd if he fought with magicka…\n\n[i]Lightning would be fast enough…maybe…[/i]\n\nThe elf rolled his eyes and started to reach for his spear. It was no or never; once that weapon was up, he wasn’t going to have a chance. \n\nArga grabbed for his magicka. It was faint, barely there. The power that had always been part of him, the energy that sung in his veins like the Hist in his head was down to embers, barely more than the faintest coals compared to the fire that it had always been. But it was still there, whispering to him. \n\nThe elf was about to grab the spear when the magicka rippled down his arms. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, little more than the tiniest sparks, but it was enough to make the elf’s ears twitch. He whipped his head around as Arga brought his hands up – \n\n“GAH!”\n\nIt was no more than a weak spark, but it still shot from his fingertips and hit the elf in the chest. The Dunmer stumbled back a pace, hissing as he grabbed at his left arm. It was no more than pain, though; Arga could tell that he’d barely had enough energy to force the spell from his hand, let alone do any real damage. \n\nHe stumbled back, huffing for breath as the exertion nearly took him to his knees. He lowered his hands in front of him, his chin falling against his chest. Sweat beaded along his scales, and his heart hammered against his chest. \n\n“…You should not have been able to do that,” the elf said. \n\n“…Surprised you…”\n\n“Yes, you did. Hmm. That will change things.”\n\nSo much for getting away. Arga’s left leg went out from under him, and he fell to the ground. One shackled foot pulled the other with it, and he flopped onto his side. The earth was soft against his scales, at least, which was better than the alternative. \n\nThe slave-hunter picked up his spear and loomed over him. Arga glared up at him, shaking his head. \n\n“Satisfied?” he muttered. \n\n“Not yet…but I think I might be able to make plenty of money from you.”\n\n“Rrrrr…”\n\n“I told you. Do not talk back. And do not threaten your masters.”\n\nThe spear came down again, and this time, it knocked him out cold. \n\n#\n\nHe woke up tied to one of the guar. Not on it, but dragged behind it. His back ached from who knew how many rocks he’d been dragged over, and he grunted as he rolled onto his side, then his stomach. \n\n“Nnngh…by the Hist…”\n\n“Finally awake, are you?” the Dunmer called. “This is what happens when you defy your place.”\n\n“Shut up…”\n\n“That’s another beating tonight.”\n\nGritting his teeth, Arga focused on keeping his mouth shut. His head still hurt and his brain was still rattled around by the last blow. He doubted that he’d be able to take too many of those in succession. \n\nBesides, the first thing that he needed to do was get off the ground. The guar wasn’t stopping, and the elf wasn’t doing anything to help him up. Clearly, if he was going to avoid getting his face scraped off and his scales worn raw, he was going to have to get himself upright again. \n\nIt took three attempts, but eventually, he was able to bring his knees forward at a bump and get his feet under him. He jumped up, barely managing to catch his balance, and commenced a fast-shuffle of a walk to keep from falling down again. His bound arms were pulled forward, dragged ahead of him, and – \n\nAnd they were approaching a village, he realized. The sight of various houses and more loomed ahead, just over the hill they were about to descend. He gasped as he realized just how far they must have traveled already. \n\n“What –”\n\n“Andrethis,” his captor said, shrugging. “Where we’ll be fixing those shackles of yours.”\n\n“Fixing?”\n\n“Slaves aren’t allowed magic. You are going to have yours bound away, properly. That should not have happened last night.”\n\nShouldn’t have – he shut that thought down before it could go anywhere else. If he wasn’t supposed to have magic, then he wasn’t going to start talking about how this was normal for him. It might be the only tool that he’d keep. \n\n[i]The shackles are supposed to keep the magicka bound up in me…or keep me away from it…[/i]\n\nOr something like that. However it worked, it was meant to keep slaves from casting spells, and that meant that his meager accomplishment last night had been enough to break through the standard restraints that the hunter had on him. Which was why they were visiting a specialist, someone that could bind him better. \n\nDespite himself, he felt…proud. There was little to be proud of, but the fact that his magicka was deep enough and powerful enough to get through basic bindings made him feel better about himself. \n\nThey descended from the hilltop to the small town. Filled with perhaps fifty buildings, it was large enough to support a decent number of people. Arga walked and hopped along behind the guar, and as he did, he realized something else. \n\nThe dark elves that populated Andrethis were better dressed than any of the soldiers that he had seen along the border, or the raiders that sometimes came through and looked for slaves of their own. These ones were dressed in luscious silks, long dresses, and robes that had finery and symbols on them that clearly meant something to each other. There were Dunmer that bowed and Dunmer that looked down on others, and the clothing and finery seemed to be the marks of status that set the rules that everyone else obeyed. \n\nYet, as they walked through, he was the one that everyone turned to stare at. They saw his captor first, then they saw him. And they…stared. \n\nAnd as they stared, he felt the same sort of disdain, the same sort of helpless energy, that he had felt in the rope bindings all those years ago. This time, however, that helplessness was tainted with something else. \n\n[i]This is where you belong…[/i]\n\nArga clenched his hands into fists, and one of the Dunmer women stepped back, hand to her chest. Another man stepped forward, putting himself between the elf woman and him and put his hand on a dagger hilt. \n\nThe Saxhleel’s captor chuckled, holding up a hand. \n\n“Don’t worry. This slave is completely restrained. He won’t try anything. And if he does, I’ll put him down myself.”\n\nWarning to him, reassurance to the crowd. Arga clenched his fists even tighter, then slowly forced himself to relax. The elves shook their heads, but moved on. \n\nAs they continued walking through the crowd, he realized that there were some few non-elves around. Khajiits, for the most part, but a few other Argonians, as well. Just like him, they were all shackled at the wrists and ankles, and some of the better-off ones wore collars, as well, tight metal bands that squeezed at the throat and had tags that hung down with names of elves on them. He shivered, looking away. \n\nThey had to pause at the center of town, waiting for a few other wagons and travelers to negotiate right of way. As Arga took advantage of the brief respite to rest his legs, he heard something else. Something…grunty, something pleasured. \n\n[i]Oh, no…[/i]\n\nHe didn’t want to look, but dark curiosity drove him. The Saxhleel turned to his left, looking down an alley between a shop and a house. On his knees in the middle of the alley, his collar locked to the shop outer wall, was another Saxhleel, one that was green-scaled from head to toe. Whatever stitches of clothing he might have once had were gone, and his cock hung down between his legs as a dark elf gripped his head-horns and humped his face. \n\nGluk. \n\nGluk. \n\nGluk. \n\nHe shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the din of the town, but as he stared at his marshbrother being face-fucked, he couldn’t help but hear it. Maybe it was just in his head, maybe it wasn’t even real, but it was there, nonetheless. \n\nThe dark elf pulled out, slapping a dark gray shaft against his fellow marshbrother’s face. The other Saxhleel grunted, taking it, no longer frowning or whimpering. He just…took it, his eyes broken and his face slack. \n\nDesperate for some explanation, he looked away. His captor glanced back at him, a faint smile on his face. \n\n“That…that…”\n\n“One of many uses for slaves,” the elf said. “And one that all of you will experience, when you cease obeying orders.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Some few deviants find it amusing to enjoy you, to command you the way that no elf might order another around,” the slave-hunter said as the crowd started moving once more. “They’re sick, of course. But it’s accepted that it happens.”\n\n“…”\n\n“But maybe your buyer will be different. Or maybe he’ll decide that is [i]all[/i] he wants from you.”\n\nA shiver ran up and down his spine as he imagined someone tying him up like that. He had no problem laying with males; he had been with Geel-Sei several times, and he had a fondness for males and females alike, but that? That was horrifying. \n\nAnd yet…\n\n[i]I’m getting real tired of that thought…[/i]\n\n\nBut yet, there was something about being stared at as he walked through town. He couldn’t shake it. The way that the elves stared at him, the way that their eyes lingered on his body, the way that they judged him to [i]require[/i] this, to [i]deserve[/i] this…\n\nIt sent shiver after shiver down his spine, and he didn’t know what to do with it. \n\nThey kept walking, and he dropped his eyes to the cobblestone streets, not wanting to think of what that might mean. He didn’t want this…but there was a part of him that was enjoying it, just like he had enjoyed Geel-Sei sitting on his chest and teasing him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. \n\nEventually, they reached a smithy at the far end of the town. The dark elf led the guar off to the side of the road, tied them down, and undid the rope around Arga’s chains. A single look was enough to remind him not to try and run. His pounding headache backed that up, and he knew better than to make the attempt. \n\nThey rounded the smithy to find another dark elf on the far side. The blacksmith looked up as they approached, his lips pulling up in a sneer when he saw Arga, and then to a smile when he saw the elf. \n\n“Lenam, heh. Been a while,” the smith said. “What brings you here? Another slave to sell?”\n\n“Another one to outfit.”\n\n“Collaring him already?”\n\n“Hardly; I need a better set of shackles.”\n\n“Told you not to skimp on the cheap shit.”\n\n“You know me better than that, Arethi,” Lenam said, shaking his head. “This is standard equipment. This one’s strong enough to push through it.”\n\n“He – what?!”\n\n“So don’t give me the cheap stuff. Give me the best you have.”\n\n“…This one? This thing?”\n\n“Yes, this one. You open for a fitting or not?”\n\n“I – well, yes –”\n\n“Good.”\n\nAs Arethi stepped back into the building attached to the smithy, Arga turned his attention back to Lenam. He finally had a name for his captor. \n\n“This is how this is going to go. You are going to be very, very still, and I’m going to hold my spear to your throat. The first time I see any sign of magicka, I am going to give you a warning cut. That cut will leave half your body paralyzed. If you try it again, I will kill you.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Do you understand?”\n\n“…Yes.”\n\n“Good. Arethi’s going to bleed me dry enough for this anyway; I don’t need you causing more problems.”\n\nHe almost felt like someone’s pet being dragged around Morrowind. It wasn’t that he was supposed to be liked, but rather, that he was supposed to behave. The better he behaved, the better chance that he had of getting a good owner when this was all said and done, but there was no getting away from being owned in the first place. Freedom, as far as he could tell, was impossible if he couldn’t get away. \n\nAnd Lenam, unfortunately, was a good enough fighter that he doubted that he was ever going to get away. \n\nArethi returned. One by one, the shackles came off, turned and twisted in a certain way by the slave-hunter. They were piled off to the side, and Lenam dragged him to the anvil by the shoulder. The blade of the spear rested against the side of his neck the whole time, reminding him of the consequences of any defiance. \n\nArga held very, very still as the smith took him by the wrists. The leather gloves were rough, but it was the elf that flinched as he squeezed and measured them. \n\n“Ugh. Scaly beast…”\n\n“They’re useful enough,” Lenam said, shrugging. \n\n“Only if you don’t care about the quality. Beasts can’t do anything better than a child, and I’d trust a child sooner than them.”\n\n“Just do the job I asked you to.”\n\n“The one that you’re paying me to do, you mean,” the smith muttered. “You better have plenty of Drakes for this.”\n\n“All I have are septims.”\n\n“You’re paying double, then.”\n\n“10% more, and you better not charge more than that.”\n\n“Hmmph.”\n\nArga clenched his jaws shut, keeping anything that he might have said inside. The smith stroked his wrists, measured them, held the metal to his scales, and then took them away. Arethi made a few notes, then gestured nearby. \n\n“Lay him down; gonna need to get the ankles, too.”\n\nAs he laid down, Arga couldn’t help but feel just a little…strange. It was like the helplessness and the humiliation of being marched through town all but naked, but all focused on one part of him. He didn’t know why or how it got to him the way that it did, but as the elf grabbed and squeezed his ankles, it felt…\n\nArousing. \n\n[i]Why? Why is this…[/i]\n\nHis cheeks burned a little hotter as he realized that his shaft was starting to twitch beneath his loincloth. He kept his mouth shut, not daring to speak up or even move to hide it, and just tried to think of something else. \n\n“Hmmph. This one’s stronger than he looks,” Arethi muttered. “Thick muscles in the calf. Large feet, too.”\n\nThey talked about him the way that he might have talked about a fish or a kill in the swamp. It…felt strange. Degrading, humiliating, yes, but there was that focus, that fascination, and…\n\nHe didn’t want to think about it. Arga closed his eyes, focusing on just obeying what he was told to do.\n\nOnce more, the smith continued to feel, fondle, and squeeze. He ran his hands over the Saxhleel’s ankles, down to his heels, and even along his soles. There was a quiet chat between the elves about whether Lenam wanted to have him fitted for temporary shoes, but the slave-hunter turned it down. \n\n“He’ll be a slave one way or another,” the hunter said. “Might as well get used to being barefoot. As if the beasts ever wear anything…”\n\nThe metal pressed against his ankles, tighter than the original shackles. He held his breath, fear leaping up and getting shoved back down. There was no place for that; he had to obey, if he wanted to keep from being paralyzed. \n\n“Alright. This shouldn’t take long,” Arethi said after he was done. “Gimme an hour.”\n\n“We’ll wait right here.”\n\n“You’ll drive off my business!”\n\n“I’m not concerned about that. I want those done, and I know what you’re like.”\n\n“…Fine, you bastard…”\n\n#\n\n[i]One hour later…[/i]\n\nArga looked down as the wrist shackles were slapped on. This time, there was no slack between the metal and his wrists; the shimmering bands were flush to him, and they were [i]far[/i] more powerful. \n\n“Sssss…” \n\n“Forgetting your language, lizard?” Lenam asked. \n\nHe didn’t hiss again, but he did clench his hands into tight fists at the sucking feeling that the shackles provided. It felt like there were leeches on his arms, pulling, sucking, draining him of as much magicka as they could get. They had to be two, three times as strong as the shackles that he had worn before, and they drained him of more than just magic; they were draining him of energy, of strength. \n\n“Stay still, you filthy beast,” Arethi muttered, kneeling down. “God, you lizards stink…”\n\nThe first little ‘click’ of the shackle going around his ankle sent a chill up his leg. It was the same sort of tight, restraining feeling that he’d gotten from the rope trap in the swamp, only worse. The cold metal was flush against his scales, and unlike the first pair of shackles, he could feel no seam in it. He looked down, eyes wide, and stared as the outer part of the band sealed against itself, forming a solid chunk of metal. \n\n[i]Oh…no…[/i]\n\nIt was worse than he’d thought. There was no way to remove the band without breaking it completely. He couldn’t just unhinge it or pick a lock; it was completely sealed, the metal heavy enough that he could already feel it pushing down on his feet. \n\nClick. \n\nThe other one followed, and the same draining feeling that ran down his arms ran down his legs, as well. He wobbled, barely able to stand on his feet as the continual magicka-drain affected him. \n\nSuck. \n\nSuck. \n\nSuck. \n\nThe feeling was almost like the sensation one would get if they spun their arm around for too long, where the blood pooled at one end of the limb and made everything feel wrong. That was how it felt to him, as if all his magicka had been pulled out of his middle and drawn to the metal bands, instead. They swelled and throbbed, leaving him with nothing…\n\nNo. Almost nothing. \n\nThere was still the faintest little sparkle of magicka in his core, the smallest little ember of light in the darkest hour. It was nothing, not even enough for the weakest of light spells, but it was still there. This enchantment wasn’t’ enough to take everything, not yet. It might one day drain this, but…\n\nBut he still had something. \n\n“Well?” Lenam asked. \n\n“What do you mean, ‘well’? He’s fitted, isn’t he?”\n\n“Yes, but is everything sealed away?”\n\n“Lenam, a Telvanni hireling wouldn’t be able to cast spells with that on ‘em. You really think a beast is going to get out?”\n\n“I didn’t think he would get out of the first set. Is he sealed, or isn’t he?”\n\n“I can’t…I can’t…” \n\nArga leaned into the weakness that was already plaguing him. It wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t stop himself from falling over, but it was easy to play into it and pretend that it was that bad. He bumped into the anvil near him, and Arethi snarled. \n\n“Get that thing out of my smithy! And pay up, Lenam.”\n\n#\n\nThey stopped some way further up the road. Arga was exhausted, but at least he’d managed to keep the last of his magicka a secret. It was useless right now, but perhaps, one day, it would be the thing that saved him. At the very least, there was some hint of power still in him, even if it was less than nothing. \n\nLenam sat across the campsite, spear over his shoulder, eyes on the fire. Every so often, he would look up from the flames, meet the Saxhleel’s eyes, and then look away. Arga didn’t know why the elf was less aggressive tonight, but – \n\n“You’re going to one of the Telvanni,” Lenam said. \n\n“…What?”\n\n“I just decided. I’m taking you to the Telvanni. The House of mages.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Which means that we’re going to have to take another stop,” he said, putting his spear down at his side. “The Telvanni have certain…tastes…and I won’t get the best price for you without getting you marked.”\n\n“M-marked?”\n\n“We’ll stop at one of the pleasure dens on the way north. I suggest that you make your peace with being someone’s toy. It’s happening sooner than later.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Sleep, beast. I’ll let you skip the beating; tomorrow’s going to be bad enough for you.”\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]\n\nSummary: Another chapter in the prequel of Arga’s slavery, and showing a little more of the roughness and weirdness therein, as well as some of Arga’s confusion while it’s still somewhat mild. \n\nTags: M/solo, No Sex, Weird Arousal, Racism, Slavery, Speciesism, Morrowind, Argonian, Dunmer, Dark Elf, Humiliation, Exhibitionism, M/M, Oral, Forced, Noncon, Bondage, \n"
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.description.json · embedded sidecar fallback Download

{
  "description": "Another chapter in the prequel of Arga’s slavery, and showing a little more of the roughness and weirdness therein, as well as some of Arga’s confusion while it’s still somewhat mild. \n\nCommissioned by Lightsun168\n\nIf you want to get a commission for yourself, keep an eye on my journals and my twitter DraconiconWrite or bluesky https://bsky.app/profile/dracthewriter.bsky.social for updates on when I'm open.\n\nAlways eager to see comments, so please leave one if the mood strikes you.\n\nEnjoy."
}

.writing.json · embedded sidecar fallback Download

{
"writing": "[b][u][center]The Journey to Slavery\nPart 2\nFor Lightsun168\nBy Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIt was colder when he opened his eyes. The flicker of a campfire told him that enough time had passed that he was no longer anywhere near the river. Arga groaned, trying to reach up and rub his face, only to find that he couldn’t. \n\nMemories flashed by. The river, the swim, the sparring, Geel-Sei dying. All of it flitted through his mind in a flash, and he gasped, opening his eyes with panicked twitches. \n\n“Don’t start thrashing about, lizard,” the voice of the slave trader muttered, coming from across the campfire. “You aren’t getting out of those, and you aren’t getting free anytime soon.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Settle down for the night and I won’t have to beat you again.”\n\nArga blinked through the sleep-haze over his eyes, the Saxhleel slowly making out the shape of the dark elf on the other side of the campfire. He was leaning back against a rock, the guars from before tied down and grazing the stubble of old, dead grass behind him. There was nothing to be seen in the hazy darkness that was the beginning of night. Nothing but dust and earthy hills, at least. \n\nThe Saxhleel looked down at his hands. They were tied together, shackled with a thin metal chain and glimmering enchantments in the metal bands. He couldn’t pull his hands more than an inch apart before he started dragging the other arm along with it, which meant that his hands were all but useless. \n\nHe looked further down. His ankles were restrained in similar fashion, though with a few more inches of slack. Not much more, though. He’d be hobbling along with those, and he doubted that he’d be able to run. Not far, at least, and not quickly at all. \n\n“You got magic,” the dark elf said, tossing a stick in the fire. “Been using that long, lizard?”\n\n“…”\n\n“You’re gonna want to answer that. The more that I know about you, the better I can sell you.”\n\n“Why would I cooperate with that?”\n\n“Simple. The better you are, the more money I get, and the more money I get, the better I treat you before I sell you. Less marks, less beatings. But if all you are is some random bit of scale, then all I gotta do is get you there alive.” \n\nThe Dunmer looked up from the fire, his red eyes fixing on Arga’s. The Saxhleel tried to meet that stare, but the sheer disregard for him was just…too much. He looked down and away, staring at the sand between his toes. \n\n“So, I’ll ask again. You been using that magic for long?”\n\n“…A few years,” he said. \n\n“Know many spells?”\n\n“…Some.”\n\n“Anything but fire?”\n\nHe nodded. \n\n“Which?”\n\n“…Enough.”\n\nThe Dunmer sighed and stood up. He used his spear like a walking stick, but Arga still remembered the slave-hunter’s speed. He’d outdone Geel-Sei as if it was nothing, and Arga doubted that he could react fast enough to stop him if a beating was imminent. He pulled his knees against his chest, lowering his head and looking down at the ground. \n\n“Alright, lizard, let’s get this clear. You ever seen another slave before?”\n\nArga shook his head. \n\n“Here in Morrowind, there’s a bunch of ‘em. You know that, probably. Once you stepped over the line, slavery was legal. The Empire might have a lot of shit to say about how and why and where it works, but here? We do it our way. The Houses run everything, and they all agree that slaves are allowed. \n\n“Thing is, if you were anything but a lizard or a cat, you might have had a chance. But you?” The Dunmer shook his head. “It was never going to happen.”\n\n“What’s going to happen to me?” Arga asked. \n\n“Now you want to talk?”\n\n“I want to know,” he muttered, looking up. “Even if you don’t think that I deserve to be treated like an elf, I do.”\n\n“You’re wrong.”\n\nIt was like a fist to the face. Not even a laugh, just a callous, casual statement that Arga didn’t deserve the same sort of kindness or care that anyone else would get. He would have been able to take mockery, but this…\n\nIt was like having someone explaining to a hatchling, like it was some simple rule that they hadn’t understood yet. The casualness chilled him to the bone, and left him shaking anew. \n\n“Lizards aren’t people. Never have been, never will. The Empire pretends, I suppose, so that it can keep getting tribute from your marshes, but they understand. Or enough of them do, anyway. Not the point here.\n\n“Here’s how this is going to go. You and I are going to travel for a while. The more you tell me about you, the faster I figure out the best buyer to take you to. You do whatever I tell you, you make sure that you never talk back, and if you try and run, I will catch you and I will punish you.”\n\nArga growled. He got the butt of the spear to his chin for his troubles, smacking his head to the side hard enough that his teeth rattled. As he grabbed his face, huffing through clenched teeth, the Dunmer forced his head up with the bladed end of the spear. \n\n“Consider that your warning. You [i]are[/i] going to be taken to a buyer. You can pretend that it won’t happen if you want, but it won’t stop reality. You [i]are[/i] a slave now. There is no going back.”\n\nHissing through his pain, Arga forced himself to meet those red eyes properly. He wanted to be angry, furious, something that would make the elf afraid. More than anything, he wanted to be something that wasn’t so small in the other man’s eyes, something that could be pushed around without consequence. \n\nBut there was no fear there. If anything, there was a faint interest in the possibilities that Arga represented, but that was as much as he could see. \n\nThe Dunmer eventually removed the spear, shaking his head as he lowered the blunt end to the ground. Arga continued to rub his face. \n\n“What spells can you cast, lizard?”\n\n“…Fire, lightning, and ice,” he muttered. “A bit of paralysis…if I can touch someone…and a spell of deafness…”\n\n“Five spells, then. And yet you were stupid enough to use fire. I suppose a beast will never be better than a beast.”\n\nArga clenched his hands into fists.\n\n“You want to hurt me, don’t you?” \n\n“Yes.”\n\n“Try.”\n\nHe whipped his head up. The Dunmer tossed his spear to the side. \n\n“I want you to understand how useless it is. Try and hurt me. Use your fists, your magic, anything. But try.”\n\nIt was a trap, but it was also the only chance that Arga was likely to get. Without hesitation, he leaped to his feet, trying to ram his shoulder into the elf’s stomach. \n\nHe missed, of course. The slave-hunter side-stepped him, but Arga was already spinning, tail low. The elf jumped over it, bringing his leg around with a casual kick that caught the Saxhleel in the hip. He stumbled to the side, barely catching himself with the chains around his ankles. \n\n“Quick reflexes,” the elf said. “Surprising. All the mages of your kind that I’ve seen have been less than…stellar.”\n\n“Mmmph…”\n\n“You can take a hit, too. Hmmm. And yet, you’re not fighting back yet.”\n\nArga was trying to think of the best move. The elf was fast, faster than he could keep up with. Geel-Sei had been cut down easily, but it was more than just this man being a better warrior. This hunter knew how to read him, how to figure out what he was going to do. If they were fighting with weapons, he’d be dead already. \n\nAnd if he fought with magicka…\n\n[i]Lightning would be fast enough…maybe…[/i]\n\nThe elf rolled his eyes and started to reach for his spear. It was no or never; once that weapon was up, he wasn’t going to have a chance. \n\nArga grabbed for his magicka. It was faint, barely there. The power that had always been part of him, the energy that sung in his veins like the Hist in his head was down to embers, barely more than the faintest coals compared to the fire that it had always been. But it was still there, whispering to him. \n\nThe elf was about to grab the spear when the magicka rippled down his arms. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, little more than the tiniest sparks, but it was enough to make the elf’s ears twitch. He whipped his head around as Arga brought his hands up – \n\n“GAH!”\n\nIt was no more than a weak spark, but it still shot from his fingertips and hit the elf in the chest. The Dunmer stumbled back a pace, hissing as he grabbed at his left arm. It was no more than pain, though; Arga could tell that he’d barely had enough energy to force the spell from his hand, let alone do any real damage. \n\nHe stumbled back, huffing for breath as the exertion nearly took him to his knees. He lowered his hands in front of him, his chin falling against his chest. Sweat beaded along his scales, and his heart hammered against his chest. \n\n“…You should not have been able to do that,” the elf said. \n\n“…Surprised you…”\n\n“Yes, you did. Hmm. That will change things.”\n\nSo much for getting away. Arga’s left leg went out from under him, and he fell to the ground. One shackled foot pulled the other with it, and he flopped onto his side. The earth was soft against his scales, at least, which was better than the alternative. \n\nThe slave-hunter picked up his spear and loomed over him. Arga glared up at him, shaking his head. \n\n“Satisfied?” he muttered. \n\n“Not yet…but I think I might be able to make plenty of money from you.”\n\n“Rrrrr…”\n\n“I told you. Do not talk back. And do not threaten your masters.”\n\nThe spear came down again, and this time, it knocked him out cold. \n\n#\n\nHe woke up tied to one of the guar. Not on it, but dragged behind it. His back ached from who knew how many rocks he’d been dragged over, and he grunted as he rolled onto his side, then his stomach. \n\n“Nnngh…by the Hist…”\n\n“Finally awake, are you?” the Dunmer called. “This is what happens when you defy your place.”\n\n“Shut up…”\n\n“That’s another beating tonight.”\n\nGritting his teeth, Arga focused on keeping his mouth shut. His head still hurt and his brain was still rattled around by the last blow. He doubted that he’d be able to take too many of those in succession. \n\nBesides, the first thing that he needed to do was get off the ground. The guar wasn’t stopping, and the elf wasn’t doing anything to help him up. Clearly, if he was going to avoid getting his face scraped off and his scales worn raw, he was going to have to get himself upright again. \n\nIt took three attempts, but eventually, he was able to bring his knees forward at a bump and get his feet under him. He jumped up, barely managing to catch his balance, and commenced a fast-shuffle of a walk to keep from falling down again. His bound arms were pulled forward, dragged ahead of him, and – \n\nAnd they were approaching a village, he realized. The sight of various houses and more loomed ahead, just over the hill they were about to descend. He gasped as he realized just how far they must have traveled already. \n\n“What –”\n\n“Andrethis,” his captor said, shrugging. “Where we’ll be fixing those shackles of yours.”\n\n“Fixing?”\n\n“Slaves aren’t allowed magic. You are going to have yours bound away, properly. That should not have happened last night.”\n\nShouldn’t have – he shut that thought down before it could go anywhere else. If he wasn’t supposed to have magic, then he wasn’t going to start talking about how this was normal for him. It might be the only tool that he’d keep. \n\n[i]The shackles are supposed to keep the magicka bound up in me…or keep me away from it…[/i]\n\nOr something like that. However it worked, it was meant to keep slaves from casting spells, and that meant that his meager accomplishment last night had been enough to break through the standard restraints that the hunter had on him. Which was why they were visiting a specialist, someone that could bind him better. \n\nDespite himself, he felt…proud. There was little to be proud of, but the fact that his magicka was deep enough and powerful enough to get through basic bindings made him feel better about himself. \n\nThey descended from the hilltop to the small town. Filled with perhaps fifty buildings, it was large enough to support a decent number of people. Arga walked and hopped along behind the guar, and as he did, he realized something else. \n\nThe dark elves that populated Andrethis were better dressed than any of the soldiers that he had seen along the border, or the raiders that sometimes came through and looked for slaves of their own. These ones were dressed in luscious silks, long dresses, and robes that had finery and symbols on them that clearly meant something to each other. There were Dunmer that bowed and Dunmer that looked down on others, and the clothing and finery seemed to be the marks of status that set the rules that everyone else obeyed. \n\nYet, as they walked through, he was the one that everyone turned to stare at. They saw his captor first, then they saw him. And they…stared. \n\nAnd as they stared, he felt the same sort of disdain, the same sort of helpless energy, that he had felt in the rope bindings all those years ago. This time, however, that helplessness was tainted with something else. \n\n[i]This is where you belong…[/i]\n\nArga clenched his hands into fists, and one of the Dunmer women stepped back, hand to her chest. Another man stepped forward, putting himself between the elf woman and him and put his hand on a dagger hilt. \n\nThe Saxhleel’s captor chuckled, holding up a hand. \n\n“Don’t worry. This slave is completely restrained. He won’t try anything. And if he does, I’ll put him down myself.”\n\nWarning to him, reassurance to the crowd. Arga clenched his fists even tighter, then slowly forced himself to relax. The elves shook their heads, but moved on. \n\nAs they continued walking through the crowd, he realized that there were some few non-elves around. Khajiits, for the most part, but a few other Argonians, as well. Just like him, they were all shackled at the wrists and ankles, and some of the better-off ones wore collars, as well, tight metal bands that squeezed at the throat and had tags that hung down with names of elves on them. He shivered, looking away. \n\nThey had to pause at the center of town, waiting for a few other wagons and travelers to negotiate right of way. As Arga took advantage of the brief respite to rest his legs, he heard something else. Something…grunty, something pleasured. \n\n[i]Oh, no…[/i]\n\nHe didn’t want to look, but dark curiosity drove him. The Saxhleel turned to his left, looking down an alley between a shop and a house. On his knees in the middle of the alley, his collar locked to the shop outer wall, was another Saxhleel, one that was green-scaled from head to toe. Whatever stitches of clothing he might have once had were gone, and his cock hung down between his legs as a dark elf gripped his head-horns and humped his face. \n\nGluk. \n\nGluk. \n\nGluk. \n\nHe shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the din of the town, but as he stared at his marshbrother being face-fucked, he couldn’t help but hear it. Maybe it was just in his head, maybe it wasn’t even real, but it was there, nonetheless. \n\nThe dark elf pulled out, slapping a dark gray shaft against his fellow marshbrother’s face. The other Saxhleel grunted, taking it, no longer frowning or whimpering. He just…took it, his eyes broken and his face slack. \n\nDesperate for some explanation, he looked away. His captor glanced back at him, a faint smile on his face. \n\n“That…that…”\n\n“One of many uses for slaves,” the elf said. “And one that all of you will experience, when you cease obeying orders.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Some few deviants find it amusing to enjoy you, to command you the way that no elf might order another around,” the slave-hunter said as the crowd started moving once more. “They’re sick, of course. But it’s accepted that it happens.”\n\n“…”\n\n“But maybe your buyer will be different. Or maybe he’ll decide that is [i]all[/i] he wants from you.”\n\nA shiver ran up and down his spine as he imagined someone tying him up like that. He had no problem laying with males; he had been with Geel-Sei several times, and he had a fondness for males and females alike, but that? That was horrifying. \n\nAnd yet…\n\n[i]I’m getting real tired of that thought…[/i]\n\n\nBut yet, there was something about being stared at as he walked through town. He couldn’t shake it. The way that the elves stared at him, the way that their eyes lingered on his body, the way that they judged him to [i]require[/i] this, to [i]deserve[/i] this…\n\nIt sent shiver after shiver down his spine, and he didn’t know what to do with it. \n\nThey kept walking, and he dropped his eyes to the cobblestone streets, not wanting to think of what that might mean. He didn’t want this…but there was a part of him that was enjoying it, just like he had enjoyed Geel-Sei sitting on his chest and teasing him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. \n\nEventually, they reached a smithy at the far end of the town. The dark elf led the guar off to the side of the road, tied them down, and undid the rope around Arga’s chains. A single look was enough to remind him not to try and run. His pounding headache backed that up, and he knew better than to make the attempt. \n\nThey rounded the smithy to find another dark elf on the far side. The blacksmith looked up as they approached, his lips pulling up in a sneer when he saw Arga, and then to a smile when he saw the elf. \n\n“Lenam, heh. Been a while,” the smith said. “What brings you here? Another slave to sell?”\n\n“Another one to outfit.”\n\n“Collaring him already?”\n\n“Hardly; I need a better set of shackles.”\n\n“Told you not to skimp on the cheap shit.”\n\n“You know me better than that, Arethi,” Lenam said, shaking his head. “This is standard equipment. This one’s strong enough to push through it.”\n\n“He – what?!”\n\n“So don’t give me the cheap stuff. Give me the best you have.”\n\n“…This one? This thing?”\n\n“Yes, this one. You open for a fitting or not?”\n\n“I – well, yes –”\n\n“Good.”\n\nAs Arethi stepped back into the building attached to the smithy, Arga turned his attention back to Lenam. He finally had a name for his captor. \n\n“This is how this is going to go. You are going to be very, very still, and I’m going to hold my spear to your throat. The first time I see any sign of magicka, I am going to give you a warning cut. That cut will leave half your body paralyzed. If you try it again, I will kill you.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Do you understand?”\n\n“…Yes.”\n\n“Good. Arethi’s going to bleed me dry enough for this anyway; I don’t need you causing more problems.”\n\nHe almost felt like someone’s pet being dragged around Morrowind. It wasn’t that he was supposed to be liked, but rather, that he was supposed to behave. The better he behaved, the better chance that he had of getting a good owner when this was all said and done, but there was no getting away from being owned in the first place. Freedom, as far as he could tell, was impossible if he couldn’t get away. \n\nAnd Lenam, unfortunately, was a good enough fighter that he doubted that he was ever going to get away. \n\nArethi returned. One by one, the shackles came off, turned and twisted in a certain way by the slave-hunter. They were piled off to the side, and Lenam dragged him to the anvil by the shoulder. The blade of the spear rested against the side of his neck the whole time, reminding him of the consequences of any defiance. \n\nArga held very, very still as the smith took him by the wrists. The leather gloves were rough, but it was the elf that flinched as he squeezed and measured them. \n\n“Ugh. Scaly beast…”\n\n“They’re useful enough,” Lenam said, shrugging. \n\n“Only if you don’t care about the quality. Beasts can’t do anything better than a child, and I’d trust a child sooner than them.”\n\n“Just do the job I asked you to.”\n\n“The one that you’re paying me to do, you mean,” the smith muttered. “You better have plenty of Drakes for this.”\n\n“All I have are septims.”\n\n“You’re paying double, then.”\n\n“10% more, and you better not charge more than that.”\n\n“Hmmph.”\n\nArga clenched his jaws shut, keeping anything that he might have said inside. The smith stroked his wrists, measured them, held the metal to his scales, and then took them away. Arethi made a few notes, then gestured nearby. \n\n“Lay him down; gonna need to get the ankles, too.”\n\nAs he laid down, Arga couldn’t help but feel just a little…strange. It was like the helplessness and the humiliation of being marched through town all but naked, but all focused on one part of him. He didn’t know why or how it got to him the way that it did, but as the elf grabbed and squeezed his ankles, it felt…\n\nArousing. \n\n[i]Why? Why is this…[/i]\n\nHis cheeks burned a little hotter as he realized that his shaft was starting to twitch beneath his loincloth. He kept his mouth shut, not daring to speak up or even move to hide it, and just tried to think of something else. \n\n“Hmmph. This one’s stronger than he looks,” Arethi muttered. “Thick muscles in the calf. Large feet, too.”\n\nThey talked about him the way that he might have talked about a fish or a kill in the swamp. It…felt strange. Degrading, humiliating, yes, but there was that focus, that fascination, and…\n\nHe didn’t want to think about it. Arga closed his eyes, focusing on just obeying what he was told to do.\n\nOnce more, the smith continued to feel, fondle, and squeeze. He ran his hands over the Saxhleel’s ankles, down to his heels, and even along his soles. There was a quiet chat between the elves about whether Lenam wanted to have him fitted for temporary shoes, but the slave-hunter turned it down. \n\n“He’ll be a slave one way or another,” the hunter said. “Might as well get used to being barefoot. As if the beasts ever wear anything…”\n\nThe metal pressed against his ankles, tighter than the original shackles. He held his breath, fear leaping up and getting shoved back down. There was no place for that; he had to obey, if he wanted to keep from being paralyzed. \n\n“Alright. This shouldn’t take long,” Arethi said after he was done. “Gimme an hour.”\n\n“We’ll wait right here.”\n\n“You’ll drive off my business!”\n\n“I’m not concerned about that. I want those done, and I know what you’re like.”\n\n“…Fine, you bastard…”\n\n#\n\n[i]One hour later…[/i]\n\nArga looked down as the wrist shackles were slapped on. This time, there was no slack between the metal and his wrists; the shimmering bands were flush to him, and they were [i]far[/i] more powerful. \n\n“Sssss…” \n\n“Forgetting your language, lizard?” Lenam asked. \n\nHe didn’t hiss again, but he did clench his hands into tight fists at the sucking feeling that the shackles provided. It felt like there were leeches on his arms, pulling, sucking, draining him of as much magicka as they could get. They had to be two, three times as strong as the shackles that he had worn before, and they drained him of more than just magic; they were draining him of energy, of strength. \n\n“Stay still, you filthy beast,” Arethi muttered, kneeling down. “God, you lizards stink…”\n\nThe first little ‘click’ of the shackle going around his ankle sent a chill up his leg. It was the same sort of tight, restraining feeling that he’d gotten from the rope trap in the swamp, only worse. The cold metal was flush against his scales, and unlike the first pair of shackles, he could feel no seam in it. He looked down, eyes wide, and stared as the outer part of the band sealed against itself, forming a solid chunk of metal. \n\n[i]Oh…no…[/i]\n\nIt was worse than he’d thought. There was no way to remove the band without breaking it completely. He couldn’t just unhinge it or pick a lock; it was completely sealed, the metal heavy enough that he could already feel it pushing down on his feet. \n\nClick. \n\nThe other one followed, and the same draining feeling that ran down his arms ran down his legs, as well. He wobbled, barely able to stand on his feet as the continual magicka-drain affected him. \n\nSuck. \n\nSuck. \n\nSuck. \n\nThe feeling was almost like the sensation one would get if they spun their arm around for too long, where the blood pooled at one end of the limb and made everything feel wrong. That was how it felt to him, as if all his magicka had been pulled out of his middle and drawn to the metal bands, instead. They swelled and throbbed, leaving him with nothing…\n\nNo. Almost nothing. \n\nThere was still the faintest little sparkle of magicka in his core, the smallest little ember of light in the darkest hour. It was nothing, not even enough for the weakest of light spells, but it was still there. This enchantment wasn’t’ enough to take everything, not yet. It might one day drain this, but…\n\nBut he still had something. \n\n“Well?” Lenam asked. \n\n“What do you mean, ‘well’? He’s fitted, isn’t he?”\n\n“Yes, but is everything sealed away?”\n\n“Lenam, a Telvanni hireling wouldn’t be able to cast spells with that on ‘em. You really think a beast is going to get out?”\n\n“I didn’t think he would get out of the first set. Is he sealed, or isn’t he?”\n\n“I can’t…I can’t…” \n\nArga leaned into the weakness that was already plaguing him. It wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t stop himself from falling over, but it was easy to play into it and pretend that it was that bad. He bumped into the anvil near him, and Arethi snarled. \n\n“Get that thing out of my smithy! And pay up, Lenam.”\n\n#\n\nThey stopped some way further up the road. Arga was exhausted, but at least he’d managed to keep the last of his magicka a secret. It was useless right now, but perhaps, one day, it would be the thing that saved him. At the very least, there was some hint of power still in him, even if it was less than nothing. \n\nLenam sat across the campsite, spear over his shoulder, eyes on the fire. Every so often, he would look up from the flames, meet the Saxhleel’s eyes, and then look away. Arga didn’t know why the elf was less aggressive tonight, but – \n\n“You’re going to one of the Telvanni,” Lenam said. \n\n“…What?”\n\n“I just decided. I’m taking you to the Telvanni. The House of mages.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Which means that we’re going to have to take another stop,” he said, putting his spear down at his side. “The Telvanni have certain…tastes…and I won’t get the best price for you without getting you marked.”\n\n“M-marked?”\n\n“We’ll stop at one of the pleasure dens on the way north. I suggest that you make your peace with being someone’s toy. It’s happening sooner than later.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Sleep, beast. I’ll let you skip the beating; tomorrow’s going to be bad enough for you.”\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]\n\nSummary: Another chapter in the prequel of Arga’s slavery, and showing a little more of the roughness and weirdness therein, as well as some of Arga’s confusion while it’s still somewhat mild. \n\nTags: M/solo, No Sex, Weird Arousal, Racism, Slavery, Speciesism, Morrowind, Argonian, Dunmer, Dark Elf, Humiliation, Exhibitionism, M/M, Oral, Forced, Noncon, Bondage, \n"
}