FORWARD

"Soladovia is a nation of opportunity, a land of plenty. Great cities dot the landscape. Outside the city walls, acres upon acres of well-tended farmland sprawl over pristine hills, ensuring there's enough food for everyone who lives there. The mountains are webbed with deep mines, which produce coal and metals that fuel thriving manufacturing districts. The cities' streets are clean, their water is pure and clear, their shops well-stocked. The noble Lords - the highest caste within the nation's hierarchy - enjoy luxurious manors, walled gardens, and beautifully kept grounds in the center of sprawling metropolises. The merchant caste below them have large houses and shops to call their own. Even the peasants - the lowest of them all - enjoy well-furnished apartments or small houses around the city borders. Not one of the nation's citizens has to work a job they don't enjoy, or goes home at night with hurting feet or an aching back. Not one goes hungry. No one is poor. It truly is a utopia for its residents... because of us.

I am Setha-Vim, and I am a Xithuatlian. We used to keep to ourselves, living in the jungle, leading natural lives unfettered by technology. We had a tribal society, and lived communally, taking what we needed from nature and giving back what we needed no longer. For hundreds of years, we maintained this balance... but now, we are slaves. We toil endlessly for Soladovia... we tend the crops, work the mines, clean the streets. We serve the Lords and their guests. We work in the many factories and mills that produce the nation's goods. We work in the shops that sell them. In another place, another time, the needs of the many may have led to the rise of industry, technology and automation, but not here - what need is there for automation when slaves are cheap and plentiful?

They say we were primitive, savage beasts. That we are like animals, and that bringing us here to live with them in their great cities was an act of kindness, a great uplifting of our species. They tell themselves that we are better off this way, because it helps them justify their cruelty, their malice, their greed. By collectively choosing to sacrifice our freedom, they have secured their own prosperity. By turning a blind eye on our suffering, they maintain their lives of luxury. It was a small price to pay for those who do not have to bare the burden of their decision, and none speak out against it, because speaking out against our enslavement would be to speak out against their very way of life, and to end it would bring with it an end to the rewards they all reap from our labors.

My name, taken literally, means 'Free Tongue'. It refers to one who speaks too much. I am, among my other duties, an entertainer, a storyteller. Most of my stories are taken from me to entertain my Master or his guests, or to regale his virtues, few as they may be. Seldom am I offered the chance to share a story of my choosing, to tell it as I see fit. I pray you will read my words, and take them to heart, for they may be my last. I am Setha-Vim, Xithuatlian, and this is my story."

- Setha-Vim

VISITOR

When the door swings open, the room is already warm and well lit, with oil lamps and a sizable fireplace burning brightly. An attendant holds the door open, head bowed, and the visitor - a tall human man clad in a black silk shirt and matching pants - brushes past him to step inside. He stands in the doorway for a few moments, surveying the room with a critical look on his face... His expression suggests he's looking for something worth complaining about, as if this isn't one of the nicest rooms in the manor. The attendant bows and closes the door behind him. He isn't carrying anything, nor are any personal effects waiting for him in the room... this means he either didn't bring anything with him, or he has arrived before them... hopefully it's the former, for the sake of the servants.

His slow scan of the room soon brings his attention to the tall figure standing beside the door. It's a reptilian male, just shy of six feet tall, with scaly, green skin, and brown horns atop his head. The metal collar around his neck gives away his station, not that it was needed: he is a slave, as are all of these lizards in the city, and the nation beyond. He stands still against the wall, his eyes on the floor, hands clasped in front of him. He wears shackles on his wrists and ankles, but no chains. He must be one of the better-trained, one of the more 'civilized' ones, if any of them could be called that.

"Who're you?" the visitor snaps, looking him up and down. "What're you doing in my room?"

The reptile shifts when he's addressed, but he doesn't look up. He answers quietly, in a measured tone. His pronunciation is good, for a lizard; he doesn't have their usual slurred speech pattern. He must have been here for some time.

"I am called Setha-Vim," he says, "and I am at your service. Lord Othevrin - my Master - has instructed me to attend you for the duration of your stay. I am to perform whatever services you require."

The visitor looks him up and down again, and sneers. "Is this all he thinks of me?" he asks. "Is the service of a creature like you all I am worth to him?" He shakes his head, and walks into the room proper. He sits down on a soft armchair in the middle, near the fireplace, and leans back with a sigh.

The room can only be described as palatial. It's large enough to accommodate an entire crowd of people, and features lavish furnishings - a king-sized four-post bed with regal red blankets, and four large chairs and a four-seat sofa in the middle of the room around a table laden with fresh fruits. The fireplace gives off a pleasant warmth and dancing light, a wet bar with running water and racks of assorted liquor occupies one wall, a writing desk another, and a dresser and wardrobe for the occupants to store their things a third... in addition, at present, the room offers its occupant their own personal servant.

"I am certain he thinks quite highly of you," Setha-Vim says calmly, his eyes not leaving the floor. "I have been his servant for many years. I know his House inside and out. Whatever you require, I am certain I can provide it."

"You are a slave," the visitor says dryly, "not a servant, let's not mince words. Your kind are all slaves. If you must speak, at least do so accurately." He leans forward and reaches for the fruit laid out on the table, his hand hovering between an apple and a bowl of grapes indecisively before settling on a peach instead.

"As you say," Setha-Vim answers, his voice level and quiet. "I am a slave. Many outsiders find the concept distasteful, but I can see that you are not one of them."

"No, I am not," the visitor answers flatly, biting into the peach as he sits back in the chair. "And I do not appreciate being pandered to." He looks at the peach, turning it over in his hand before taking another bite, and juice from the fruit squirts out onto his shirt. He brushes at it with his free hand and makes an annoyed grumble before looking up again. "Make yourself useful and bring me a napkin," he snaps.

Setha-Vim looks up and nods. "As you say, Sir," he replies, and walks quickly to a small closet in the corner of the room. He opens the door and takes out a fine cloth napkin, embroidered with Lord Othevrin's House crest. He hurries with it to the visitor's chair, making as if to clean the juice from the man's shirt himself, but the visitor snatches the cloth from him with a glare.

"Keep your filthy hands away from me, beast. I'll not have you poke holes in my shirt with your clumsy claws; I can wipe it myself," he snaps, dabbing at the peach juice. When he's satisfied, he sets the cloth napkin down on the table beside his chair, and turns his attention back to the reptile. "Why are you still standing there?"

Setha-Vim looks down at his hands... It has been a long time since he'd had claws. He's almost forgotten what they felt like. He bows his head, and starts walking back to his place by the door, but the visitor halts him with a word. "Stop." Setha-Vim pauses and turns to look back at him. The visitor regards him levelly. "Did I tell you to leave?" he asks.

Setha-Vim sighs and shakes his head. He knows the sort of person this unnamed visitor seems to be... no matter what he does or says, it will be wrong. Perhaps the man is hoping he will show irritation, or that he will raise his voice... both grave sins, for a slave... but one does not become a house slave of a prominent Lord by making such foolish decisions, or letting their emotions take control. His voice remains calm as he answers, "No, Sir, you did not."

The visitor looks back at him, his eyes cold. He points at the floor beside his chair, and says, quietly, "Come here. On your knees, slave." Setha-Vim hesitates before closing the distance... The man's sudden change in demeanor does not sit well with him. He doesn't know what the man intends, but the tone of his demand leaves Setha-Vim's hackles raised as he slowly lowers himself to his calloused knees.

"I thought you were well-trained," the visitor says. He reaches out and takes hold of Setha-Vim's hand, and lifts it up, looking it over, front and back. "You creatures have always bothered me," he continues. "You're unnatural. Disgusting, really." He slides a finger along the edge of the bronze-colored shackle around Setha-Vim's wrist. "Your master should have left you chained up tonight, far away from my room. For your sake." He looks into Setha-Vim's eyes, and asks, "How much are you worth?"

The reptile tenses, his eyes looking left and right, taking stock of his surroundings, suddenly feeling very vulnerable kneeling here, and yet, his Master's instructions were clear tonight, and whatever this man is thinking of doing, he's certain that his Master will do far worse if this visitor reports disobedience. He isn't quite sure how to answer the question, though... both because he doesn't know the answer, and because the visitor's motives worry him. He replies after a brief hesitation with a simple, "Sir?"

The visitor leans towards him, and repeats, more slowly, "How much... are... you... worth?" He pauses, and when no answer comes, he asks, "If I break you, how much will I owe your master to replace you? How much... does a slave... like you... cost?"

Setha-Vim's breath catches, and he tries to pull his hand back, but the man holds on tight. He could overpower the visitor, he's sure, but to what end? His Master would make him beg for whatever this visitor is planning before he is finished. His heart beats quickly in his chest, and his normally calm demeanor wavers as he answers, "I am... quite valuable, Sir... my Master would be upset if you were to harm me, I'm sure..."

The visitor laughs at that, a sadistic cackle that sends a chill through Setha-Vim's bones. "I doubt that, slave. I doubt that very much. I am a very wealthy trader, and I make your master a lot of coin. If I walked out of this room and told him I wanted your hide for a new pair of boots, he would quote me a price." He reaches down to his side with his free hand, draws a small knife from his belt, and holds it up in front of Setha-Vim's face, tilting it this way and that, the dancing firelight glinting off of the sharp steel blade.

The visitor brings the knife down towards Setha-Vim's hand, and the reptile flinches. It takes all the willpower he can muster not to pull his hand free of the man's hold, but the visitor slows its descent, and the knife doesn't pierce his thick flesh. The visitor drags the tip of the blade across the back of Setha-Vim's hand, watching him as he does so. The look in his eyes terrifies Setha-Vim... it's the look of a man who delights in cruelty.

"I have heard," the visitor says, "that you creatures heal very quickly. Is that true?" He angles the knife downward, pressing the tip against the back of Setha-Vim's hand. The slave looks down at it and grits his teeth, his body tense. "Yes," he says quietly, "We heal quickly, but we still bleed, and my Master would be displeased if blood got onto his furniture or his carpets..." It was the wrong thing to say. The tip of the knife pierces his flesh. A sudden, sharp grunt slips from his mouth, and his nostrils flare as pain shoots through his hand.

"If he complains," the visitor says, "I will simply buy him replacements." The knife sinks deeper, a half-inch of cold steel parting Setha-Vim's flesh, the blade sliding between the bones and tendons and muscle. He trembles, jaw clenched, breathing heavily, staring wide-eyed down at his hand as blood wells up around the blade. Each tiny movement of the knife sends a wave of agony through his hand, his wrist, his arm. A single red droplet rolls down his green skin, touching the visitor's fingers, still holding Setha-Vim's hand in place, and the man looks down at it distastefully. He lifts the knife, the blade leaving behind a deep gouge, and releases his hold on Setha-Vim, who pulls his hand back quickly, clutching it against his bare chest. He stumbles backwards a step in his haste to retreat, lifting himself from a kneel to a low crouch, his feet beneath him.

The visitor looks down at his fingers, at the slave's blood staining his skin, and then at his knife, the tip bathed in it. He glances over at the table, and leans forward, sticking his knife into a grape, plucking it from the bunch. He brings it close to his face, staring at it, turning the knife this way and that, watching it drip with grape juice and blood. Setha-Vim watches him closely as he lifts the knife to his mouth and pulls the grape off with his teeth, then licks the blade clean of juice and blood alike.

He turns to look at Setha-Vim as he chews the grape, making a show of it before he swallows. Smiling at the lizard clutching his bleeding hand, he reaches for the grapes again, taking three into his hand and rolling them around between his fingers before tossing one into the air. He catches it in his mouth casually. "I have been doing business with your master for some time," he says. "He knows me well enough by now. If he sent you to my room tonight, he doesn't value you nearly as highly as you seem to think he does. Or perhaps you're simply unlucky." He stands up from the chair, knife in one hand and the two remaining grapes in the other, and takes a casual step towards Setha-Vim. The lizard quickly rises to his feet and backs away... had he miscalculated his position this badly?

"The fact of the matter," the visitor says, advancing on Setha-Vim, "is that your master needs me. More accurately, he needs my business. My connections. He may have influence within this city, but my influence extends far beyond these walls." He tosses the second grape into the air, and it falls into his mouth a moment later. He chews it slowly and swallows it, walking towards Setha-Vim at a slow, determined pace. The lizard looks around the room, growing increasingly fearful. Blood from his hand drips onto the carpet beneath him. He turns his attention to the door, and darts towards it.

"Tonight," the visitor continues, "I had a lengthy discussion with him." He whips the knife in Setha-Vim's direction, and it flies towards him, hitting the floor a short distance from his foot and sticking into the carpet. The lizard looks back over his shoulder just in time to see the visitor drawing a second knife from his belt. He lunges for the door, but the second knife strikes the door right next to the handle as he reaches for it.

Setha-Vim jumps back and turns to face the man again, his back to the door, hands held up in a placating gesture. "Please... why are you doing this? What am I to you? I've never even seen you before!" he pleads, his hands shaking in front of him, blood running down his forearm, and the visitor simply laughs.

"You are absolutely nothing to me," he says, rolling the final grape around in his fingers. He opens his mouth and tosses the grape into the air, but his hand shakes at the last moment before it leaves his fingers, and the grape hits the floor a foot away, bouncing on the carpet. He stares down at it angrily, then looks up at Setha-Vim again, as if the slave had somehow been responsible for the miss. "I have often told your master during my visits how much I despise your kind. I believe he sent you here for this purpose. I will enjoy my time here tonight. You, I am afraid, will not." He lifts his hand, a third knife between his fingers, and takes aim at Setha-Vim. The slave's eyes widen, and he tries to duck out of the way, but when the knife leaves the visitor's hand a moment later, the flat of the blade clangs noisily off of the wall. It falls to the floor, and Setha-Vim looks down at it, then at the visitor, then at the knife. He reaches for it.

The visitor snarls in anger, both at having missed his mark by such an embarrassing degree, and by the slave's audacity in reaching for a weapon. "Don't you dare," he says, drawing a fourth knife, but as he tries to bring it to bare, it slips from his fingers, falling to the floor at his feet. He looks down at it in disbelief, his hand shaking, and scrambles to pick it up, but he stumbles, nearly falling to the floor himself. He catches the edge of a chair with his hand, holding onto it for support, and looks up at Setha-Vim just in time to see him straightening, knife in hand.

"It seems that you have misunderstood the situation," the lizard says, his voice growing calm and steady once more, his confidence returning. "My Master did not send me here to be your plaything tonight. He sent me to make you an offer."

The visitor sneers, and tries to stand up straight, but he stumbles again. His face contorts in sudden pain, and he presses his free hand to his chest, his once-sadistic countenance replaced now with confusion, with fear. "What did you..." He coughs, wincing in pain. "What did you do to me?!" he demands, looking up at Setha-Vim.

"Lord Othevrin has suspected that you have been defrauding him for some time," Setha-Vim continues, ignoring the man. "Today, with the help of some of his associates, he was able to confirm it. He is not pleased." He sets the knife down on a side table, taking care not to scratch the finely carved wood. No need to add that to his list of transgressions tonight. He makes his way to the wet bar on the far side of the room, keeping an eye on the visitor as he walks, and opens a drawer. He takes out a cloth napkin, much plainer than the one he had gotten for the visitor earlier, and uses the basin to wash his still-bleeding hand, wincing as the cool water flows over the deep wound. When he's satisfied, he wraps the napkin around it tightly, using his teeth and his free hand to tie it roughly in place. Then, he opens a cupboard, and takes out a small bottle.

"My Master wishes me to relay this offer to you: He will sell you this bottle for ten times the sum you have stolen from him since you first did business together. He... did not tell me the amount, but he said you would know."

The visitor seethes angrily, still slumped over beside the chair. He is having a difficult time remaining on his feet, even with the chair supporting him, but his pride won't let him sit down. He glares daggers at the lizard, and spittle flies from his mouth as he asks, "What is that?"

Setha-Vim looks down at the bottle. "It is the antidote to the poison that is killing you," he says. He glances over at the table in the center of the room, at the lavish spread of fruit - the half-eaten peach forgotten on the table beside the visitor's chair, and the vine with three grapes missing.

The man follows the lizard's eyes to the table, and what's left of the color in his face drains away as he realizes the truth of the situation. His lip quivers in anger, and he reaches for another knife, but Setha-Vim remains on the other side of the large room, and even were that not the case, his sheathes are empty. He grits his teeth, but he doesn't take long to answer. "Alright. Alright, I agree," he says. "I will pay it. All of it. Give it to me." He holds out a hand towards the slave.

Setha-Vim is taken aback by the quick response. He had not expected the man to give in quite that readily. But then, the visitor is dying. The poison that his Master had instructed him to introduce into the fruit is fast, it is effective, and it is a very painful way to die. His instructions had left little room for interpretation: keep the man occupied until he had eaten from the tainted food, wait for the poison to begin its work, then present him with an offer he would be in no position to refuse.

"My Master believed you would find his offer agreeable," he says to the man, keeping his voice level, "and instructed me to tell you that, in addition to the payment, you must agree to leave this city, and never to return. He never wishes to see you again. As for the payment, you have a safe in which your money is kept. He has already taken it into his possession. You will provide him with the key. You may reclaim it, and the safe - minus the amount owed - before you depart."

The visitor nods quickly. "Yes. Yes, I swear it, he shall have it. In writing, if he wishes. Now, bring me that bottle," he says through clenched teeth.

Setha-Vim nods, and starts walking towards the man, bottle in hand. He moves cautiously, expecting the visitor to try something... he had simply been too quick to agree. He has known many men such as this visitor in his life here, and never has he known any of them to be this quick to swallow their pride; some would even choose death before disgrace.

When Setha-Vim reaches the chair the man is hanging onto, the visitor reaches for the bottle, but the lizard does not offer it immediately. "The key?" he says, and waits while the man fumbles with his sleeve. He produces the key, attached to a silver bracelet around his wrist with a small chain. His fingers shake as he detaches it. When it's free, he holds it out towards the lizard, his eyes on the bottle.

Setha-Vim takes the key from him, offering the bottle in turn. The man reaches out and takes hold of it, staring into Setha-Vim's eyes, and the lizard can feel his hatred, his seething anger, and he knows in that moment that the visitor blames Setha-Vim himself for his present circumstance. All of it.

The man doesn't take his eyes from the lizard, his hand tightening around the bottle.. "I am going to kill you," he says, straining through what Setha-Vim can only assume is great pain to keep his voice calm. "I am going to kill you slowly. Maybe not tonight... but mark my words. Before I leave this city, I will buy you. I will pay whatever your master asks. And when I have you, when you are mine, I will take you apart. Piece. By. Piece." His threats are cut off by another coughing fit, this one more violent than the last, and when he recovers, he looks up again, snarling. A sneer spreads across his face; he sees the unease in Setha-Vim's eyes. He knows his words have struck a nerve... he knows that no matter the disgrace he might suffer tonight, in the end, it doesn't matter, because he will have the last laugh. In his own eyes, he will have won.

Setha-Vim stares back at him. It's the first thing that the visitor has said tonight that truly unsettles him. He can see it in the man's eyes... This is not an empty threat. He intends to do exactly as he claims. Setha-Vim tries to imagine how much his Master will demand... he believes his Master sees him as a valuable asset to his House, but how valuable? He can not say. When it all comes down to it, he is a slave, and slaves are cheap, and replaceable. How much would it cost to replace him? Less than this man has, he is certain of that. He has been bought and sold many times throughout his life. There is always a price. Setha-Vim tightens his grip on the bottle. His Master's instructions were clear, but for the first time tonight, he begins to doubt his prior assumption that the pain he would suffer for disobedience would be worse than anything this man might do to him.

Setha-Vim squeezes the bottle hard, and the visitor growls at him. "Let go, slave!" He jerks the bottle, trying to rip it from the lizard's hand, but Setha-Vim does not relent, squeezing even more tightly. He snarls back, his hand shaking from the strain, and the bottle shatters in his grasp. Glass and the liquid that had been contained inside fall to the floor, splashing across the carpet, and with it, blood. Setha-Vim can't suppress a loud, pained cry as the broken glass digs into his hand, and he stumbles backwards, teeth clenched. He returns to the basin and tosses the tiny key haphazardly onto the counter, pulling shards of glass from his flesh with shaking fingers.

The visitor howls, too, in rage and despair rather than pain, and drops to his knees on the floor. He lowers his head to the carpet and tries to suck what's left of the bottle's contents from it, but Setha-Vim pays him no attention. His hand burns like fire... whatever had been in that bottle stings painfully as he picks the shards of glass from his palm, the water in the basin quickly turning red for the second time tonight. He wraps another napkin around his hand - one for each, now - and it's quickly soaked through with blood, but that isn't even the worst of his concerns at that moment.

He will be blamed for this man's death. The law is quite clear in this regard: unless in defense of their Master, a slave is never to cause harm to another. The penalty for breaking this law is death, unless the slave's master agrees to pay restitution. He had been the one to poison the fruit. It had been at his Master's behest, and had this night gone according to plan, he is certain that his Master would have shielded him from harm, but now? He had directly disobeyed his Master's instructions, and he had denied the man the antidote. The man was not supposed to die. Even so, his Master can still save him from this fate, if he chooses - but would he? Setha-Vim is not so certain. After all, he is just a slave, and slaves are cheap and easily replaceable.

He stands there for a long time, staring down at his reflection in the bloody water, lost in his thoughts, the pain from his wounded hands pushed to the back of his mind. By the time he looks behind him, the visitor is dead, lying on the floor in a pool of broken glass, blood, and vomit. He feels an urge to clean up the room before his Master sees the damage, the urge originating from his many years of service, but he forces the thought from his mind. He has far greater concerns.

Setha-Vim walks to the door, but stops himself before his hand touches the handle. He needs to think. He returns to the wet bar, staring down at his reflection in the red-tinged basin once more. Perhaps his Master will forgive his transgression. He did retrieve the key, after all. Though, there will be an investigation into the man's death, no doubt. How will his Master explain having the key? He can't say that he instructed his slave to coerce the man into giving it up after poisoning him... that would not end well for either of them. Much easier to simply blame Setha-Vim, and claim the slave stole it after killing the man. Perhaps he can appeal to his Master for mercy. Perhaps when he gives his Master the key, his Master will reward his obedience with a stay of execution. Perhaps.

He picks up the key from the counter and turns it over in his fingers, thinking. He looks down at the makeshift bandage wrapped around his hand, covering the knife-inflicted wound, takes a deep breath, exhales, and slowly unwraps it. He retrieves another, fresh napkin and replaces the bandage, but not before concealing the key within the folds of the fabric.

After a quick look around the room, he walks to the door, and reaches for the handle. Before he opens it, he pauses, and looks over at the small table against the wall, where he'd carefully laid the knife he'd retrieved. He stares at it for a long few moments. It is strictly forbidden for slaves to carry weapons. He reaches up and touches the metal collar around his neck, tracing his finger around it to the rear, feeling over the small keyhole in the center. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and picks up the knife. He holds the handle in his hand, the blade angled upwards against the underside of his arm... it's all he can do to conceal it. It will have to be enough. He reaches for the door and turns the handle.

The door opens into a hallway with a lavish red carpet, and an attendant standing against the wall down the hall turns to look at him A human attendant, not a slave... the sort who are paid to handle tasks that slaves can't be trusted with. Setha-Vim tries to keep his hands from shaking as he walks down the hallway, tries his best to look like he knows where he's going and that it's somewhere he's supposed to be.

"What are you doing here?" the attendant asks, and then notices Setha-Vim's bandaged hands. "What's wrong with your hands? Are you hurt?" The question is asked in the way one might ask if an expensive piece of glassware has gotten chipped; it is not borne from concern.

"I am fine," Setha-Vim answers simply.

"Is it done, then? He has agreed? You have the key?" It seems the attendant had been told of the business going on in the visitor's room. Setha-Vim hesitates for a moment before answering. This is it. Whatever happens here, he can't go back.

"No," he says. "He didn't have it with him. Perhaps it is still with his things." His voice shakes as he answers. If he had had a slim chance of avoiding punishment before, he certainly does not anymore.

"Why have you left the room?" the attendant asks. "You should have sent for someone. Return at once!" Perhaps he doesn't know the entirety of the business Setha-Vim had been tasked with. The lizard has almost reached the attendant. He doesn't have time to consider his options. He turns quickly and grabs the attendant's hair. The man's eyes widen, and he cries out in surprise, but Setha-Vim jams his knife into the man's neck, and his cry is cut off, replaced by a wet gurgle. Blood bubbles out of his mouth, and sprays from his neck. He falls to the floor, clutching at it with both hands.

Setha-Vim wishes he knew what time it is. How long will he have until someone finds this man? Half an hour? Maybe... if his brief scream didn't draw any attention. How long until...? He reaches back and fingers the keyhole on his collar again. He doesn't have time to think about it. He starts to run.