John
Puckgordon Snæch
Water Lily Gardens, Maith Mansion

Training was always something Puck could feel... Somewhat relaxed at. Be that before a wooden dummy or a sniffing squire, he always found some sort of Zen beneath the beating sun of the Southern Isles when he was doing *Something* Violent. It was what he really shined in, that was certain. 

He was abrupt, powerful, and always hit the dirtiest, weakest spots if he could. That's what made him so... Popular. And by popular...

"Hey, Snæch!" A voice called out. A smug boy, also a ward there, maybe a year or two older than Puck. He was a bastard, everyone was pretty certain, although he swears he knows his mom... He had a case of being an insufferable, annoying little prick with a sloppy tongue. Not to mention those big ears... "Snæch!" He called out again.

Puck stopped his attack on the dummy and lowered his sword, glancing back with already a warning in his eyes. Unlike the buffoon in front of him, Puckgordon was what people call a pretty boy. With glistening blue eyes and raven black hair, not to mention the lack of scars on his face and body despite the fights he was into, this boy was blessed. "...What." He responded shortly.

The smug boy grinned wider, looking at another squire who had a knowing grin. "We were all just wondering what Puck was short for."

Ward Snæch saw this coming. He dropped his practice sword, staring at the bastard with a fire ignited in his eyes, his head slowly tilting down. "Puckgordon."

"Oh, really? Well Stan had his money on Piss Cuck, but *I* Said Pussy Fuck!" He stabbed with his words, laughter trickling amongst the squires.

Oh, the words, they stabbed. They always did. Everything did. Puck clenched his jaw, plastering on a small, psychotic smile. "Oh?" He said, stepping forward. "Well..."

Now in a short distance away from the other ward, Puck sprung into action, knee striking up to the boy's nethers and hands wrapping around his neck in a strong hold.

-
Everyone stopped laughing. They always did. 

Puck was violent, tackling the boy to the ground and bearing his teeth. "I'm better than a fucking big-eared bastard!" He hollered, the boy swinging at Puck's head as he struggled in the chokehold. 

Puck lunged down, teeth digging onto one of those so-called ears and ripping and tearing, harsh squeals coming from the victim like a stuck pig.

Oh, Puck would pay for this, somehow, but at this moment? Bliss. He spat out a chunk of flesh, punching at the boy repeatedly as a guard finally was able to run over and peel the feral Melsi from the crying, squabbling older kid.

Puck smiled, blood dripping from his mouth as he looked at the other squires, a few of them looking a tad ill.

He pointed at a different squire. Stanley, the one mentioned before. "What's my name?" He called out in a playful tone, as he was drug away.
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov, Seneschal of the Maith Mansion
The Court of Skulls, Tonate Proper

 It had not taken long for the Pirate King to hold court following his return to Tonate Proper. He had arrived early in the morning on black sailed ships, concealed both by the black of night above and the inky waves beneath him. At his own request, no festival had been planned, no waking of the loyal servants and people of Tonate Proper with great bells and war drums. When the people of Tonate Proper awoke that morning, they would find that their King had returned and resumed his duties, almost as if he had never left in the first place. Silas had pored over the letters that the Pirate King had sent back to him. They were overly formal and written in the kind of language that portrayed a certain lack of faith in the discretion of his household servants. Silas had made sure that the men tasked with handling the letters of the Maith Mansion could be trusted, but the Pirate King had never been certain of any loyalties where blackmail was involved. Evenso, Silas had the letters sweet to read.
 In his own special way, the Pirate King had written that he missed the Isles, that he missed Tonate Proper, and that he even missed, as he had been written, the Seneschal's "Tireless and endless devotion to upholding the honor and integrity of both the crown and it's incomes." And although _that_ had made his heart flutter in his chest, the Seneschal had not taken any liberties to preparing a feast customary in the return of a King, let alone his Majesty Bradai Maith.

In the same letters, Bradai had also mentioned missing things being normal, and peaceful, and quiet, and so when it came to receiving him, Silas did so quietly, with a small group of servants. Whereas typically he would have prepared a grand feast, instead he prepared a perfumed bath, steaming in the King's great copper tub. Despite his exhaustion from the four long weeks at sea with his sister, Bradai had allowed Silas to clean him, and they even engaged in some light conversation. Quickly, the conversation turned to what he had missed and the most pressing matters of concern. Flippantly, he had mentioned a dispute with stonecutter's guild in the Shrouds, and that was enough to get the Pirate King to forget about his weariness, setting him to ranting about standardized labor costs and the going price of bloodstone. When he had whipped himself up into a lather, he sunk deep into the water and tipped his head back, closing his eyes and asking quietly if the Seneschal could trim at his beard. Silas leaned down and placed a light peck on a kiss on the King's lips, as quick as a bird, and had said that it was all he had wanted to do since he had left. Although he never would have said it, an inkling of a smile crossed his King's face then. After the shaving, they had retired to bed, telling the men outside his door that they would be discussing grievous matters of state, and not to bother them for any reason. Five hours later, when the sun eventually did rise over the city, the Pirate King awoke, slipped on his finest raiments, threw a salt-stained, weather beaten trenchcoat over it and woke the Seneschal, telling him to be ready to hold court within the hour.

The Pirate King had dealt with the stonecutter's guild right away, rectifying the worker's dispute and assuring them that he would bring the guildmasters that had lowered the price of their goods to court and discuss their thinking. Despite having said seemingly nothing at all, the workers had seemed pleased with the result and left without so much as an angry face. Then, a myriad of requests from his many wives, asking to bring their family members over to increase the size of their already bloated courts. For all but one request, an Amorothi concubine disguised as a jester, the Pirate King relented. And then, of course, there had been the matter of the Melsi Ward. The boy had been training in the Water Lily Garden when he was set upon by a few different boys. They had known of the ward's poor temper, but they had not known that when incensed to anger Puckgordon Snæch would jump on top of one of them and bite their ear off. Silas had smiled when he heard about that. He knew that Melsi had a taste for flesh, and in that way they were kin, but it was rare to see a boy so ready to feast upon his brothers in arms. He had urged the King to provide him with a quick and well earned lashing, and to allow him to take the boy into his own care following the punishment. Bradai had said nothing in response but supplicated a curt nod, which all but meant that Silas could do as he pleased. Whether that was to heal his wounds or to cut him open to see if the Melsi really _were_ filled with toads, it did not seem to matter. 
 When the herald pounded on his drum and announced the arrival of the Melsi Ward, he was brought forth fettered in chains, all subject to the prying eyes of those who had assembled to see the King's judgement. 

Whatever muttering that had been taking place fell to a hush when the Pirate King asked for the boy to state his name for the record.
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The Court of Skulls, Tonate Proper

For starters, Puckgordon thought the *Chains* Were a bit much... Oh, who was he kidding? The reputation he held now, chains were perfectly fitting. He almost thought they were stylish. He held a small smirk on his face, blood still dried from the bastard on his chin and nose. His eyes, striking blue, reflected the ocean in them, a long leap from the swamp where he hailed from. It was almost as if he belonged here. 

Brought before the king, he looked up at him with... *Some smidgen* Of respect. He bowed, even. Well, he couldn't bite the king's ear off without dying, so he at least had to respect it, even if he hardly knew him for being one of his Wards. When asked to state his name, he gave a small, knowing smile.

"Puckgordon. Snæch." He said clearly, anunciating everything properly, not a mumble in him. He smiled a little more as he asked what he had to say for himself.

He glanced away for a moment, toward a few young ladies that were hiding their faces behind their fans, in fear or flirtation, it was probably the former. 

"I do not ask forgiveness from the king or his court, because I do not apologize for what I have done. It wasn't a mistake, and I knew the consequences of my actions. It's only a shame that the others couldn't know the consequences of theirs." 

He said it eloquently, a tad surprising given his feral actions and Melsi background. "Perhaps they'll know better, now, lest I bite off that other ear and make it even-" He was only able to finish his sentence just so before being tugged back from saying anything else, and he was sent back to a small snarl, his eyes looking down at the marble tiles he stood on. "Heh..."
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov, Seneschal of the Maith Mansion
The Court of Skulls, Tonate Proper

 The Seneschal watched as the boy began to speak, cocksure and smug. While Silas found joy in it, he could see that the Pirate King had found no satisfaction in the boy's response. He had recorded all of it within the thick, leather bound ledger before him, placed upon the desk that had been unceremoniously pushed into place before his great highbacked wooden throne. The boy that Puck had assaulted, Silas knew, was lowborn, an orphan of Tonate Proper taken in by the Master at Arms. Blood meant little or nothing to Bradai Maith, who himself had been a lowborn, but that did not mean it failed to play a role in his decisions. Puck's father was a Melsi, but a powerful one, and it was out of respect for him that The Pirate King would not go through with his usual form of punishment. 

"Are you a beast, boy?" The Pirate King set the quill down, in the fold between the great pages of his tome of records.
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The Court of Skulls, Tonate Proper

*Are you a beast, boy?*

This made Puck... Stop. Stop smirking, at least. He kept a small smile on his face, but before the king, his eyes changed. Maybe realization? Or perhaps... Fear. He looked up, keeping the smile up for reputation's sake.

What was there to say? He hadn't ever been asked that. He had been *Called* A beast, a monster, any other name in the book, but no one had taken the time to ask him what he thought. He *Never* Thought about it.

"I..." He stopped, his smile fading. "I don't know, your majesty."

After that response, a thick silence wafted around the court like a fog, and Puck felt the heartbeat in his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"It may be that... I'm only a beast when I'm told I'm one." He said, a sort of existential dread settling in his stomach. "Or... Maybe we're all beasts and I'm the only one that realizes it." The tone in his voice held that little tinge of dread, as if he didnt want to be a beast but didnt have a choice. 

He saved himself, though, trying to put back on the smile. "Put me in front of that bastard again and you can see for yourself."
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov, Seneschal of the Maith Mansion
The Court of Skulls, Tonate Proper

The Pirate King recorded these comments as well, writing down every last word, or at the very least a paraphrase, into his book. As he wrote, he began to speak. Although he was not looking up at him, his voice still carried throughout the room. 

"If it were up to me, I'd have vhat _bastard_ pin you down n' cut off your ear. I'd 'ave you wear it about your neck so vhat everyone can see what 'appens when you 'arm a man in my castle." It was only when he was done speaking that he raised his head to see the boy smiling at him. 

Silas watched as the Pirate King pursed his lips at the sight of the boy's smirk, his tangle of coppery beard growing tight around his mouth. 

"I sent my men into tha swamps of Taemar during tha Council to go and chop off Melsi ears. My men came back wiff necklaces covered in grey ears and noses and lips. Should I do vhat to you, boy? No. Not out uff tha respect I 'ave for your favher. But I will not allow you to be a beast any longer. You are a boy. You are not a swamp snake, you are not a beast, you do not 'ave venom running fhrough your veins." 

At once, he grit his teeth and slammed a hand on the arm of his throne. "And you will ***Not*** Laugh in my court, unless you'd like to play a fool, boy. A one eared, one eyed, one lipped, no nosed fool. Hah!" He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "A _snake._" The King spit out the last word as if it was poison. "A garden snake, per'aps. Nuffink more." 

The King picked up the quill and scribbled down the boy's punishment, "Fhirty lashings for fhree weeks, and in vhose weeks you will put down your sword and serve tha Court Physician, Silas Asgorov. If you are seen wiff so much as a _butter knife_ I will 'ave your fingers."

Silas stood and thanked the King for the gracious gift, and before anyone else had the time to speak, the Pirate King ordered the Melsi brought above the dungeons, and that he'd have the Garden Snake whipped before sundown.
John
The Garden Snake
The Redstone Dungeons

When the king's annoyed tone echoed through the halls, it was all he could *Do* Not to laugh, so he just kept the bitter smile on his face, his eye twitching as he was dragged away. 

And as they ripped the clothes from his back, and took his chains and hooked him to the ground, he kept that same smile... Well, until the whip cut into his back. He didnt scream or holler, but with each whip, his face grew a little paler. Fifty of them. Puck could have sworn it was fifty-two or fifty-three, but he didnt count them, too focused on the searing, burning sensation, blood dripping from his back and down his side, onto the floor. 

His body shook from shock after it was done, and they poured a bucket of cold water on it to really get the pain across. 

Puck's fingertips were numb from constantly being clenched in a fist, his eyes glazed with tears that could not fall, and his jaw ached from it being clenched the whole time. He was frozen as they unchained him, and pulled him up.

"'Ow do you feel now, boy?" Came a deep growl from the man who carried out the punishment.

Puck glanced over, looking at the whip, stained red from more than just his blood, and he smiled. "Refreshed, thank you..." He said in a hushed whisper, his teeth chattering as they drug him from the dungeon to be delivered to Silas Asgorov.
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
The Redstone Dungeons

The Redstone Dungeons, as the name might have suggested, were made of the same fine red stone that made up the high red walls of Tonate Proper and the castle that housed the royal family within. The cells were spacious and airy, with slits towards the ceiling to let in a sparse amount of light and warm, salty air from the ocean shore below. In the daytime, they were comfortably cool and at night, the stone stayed warm along after the sun had set. Each room was constructed entirely of stone, even the doors, which had been ornately carved on the outside and on the inside fit so snugly along the smooth, red wall that a prisoner could lose track of it if they woke up disoriented. 

They were certainly not of the caliber of cruelty expected of the fabled Pirate King, but those allowed to get comfortable would begin to notice the most interesting property of the room. The silence. While the room did have slits to let the air and sun in during the day, they could be shuttered at any time, and when that happened, the prisoner would begin to hear things they had never heard before. They'd start to hear their own breathing, their lungs filling with air and expelling them, over and over. Then they'd begin to hear their own heartbeat, the sound of blood rushing through their ears, the sound of their feet and hands on the perfectly smooth stone floor. Some, Silas had found, would go mad at the complete nothingness of it all, marking the walls with their own filth and blood in order to enjoy some basic stimulation. It was for this reason that the cells had to be constantly cleaned with water, lye, and scrub brushes, so that not even the smell would remain to keep it's next inhabitant entertained. 

When Puckgordon was brought back to his cell, he would find that Silas had converted it into a small place to clean up his wounds, the slits unshuttered, the air alight from a few black tallow candles, smoke winding up from their flickering flames.

In the middle of the room was a soldier's cot, a washbasin, a small chest of supplies, and a chair, currently occupied by the Senescence and Court Physician, who had been busily picking away the nonexistent dirt from under his immaculate nails with a knife. 

"Puckgordon." He dropped the knife into the open chest of supplies, placing two fingers lightly against his bottom lip as he watched him get walked in. "So _nice_ of our little hatchling to come at such an early hour. They must have made quick work of you." He tittered and motioned for the men to deposit him upon the cot, so that his back could benefit from the open air. "I've come to disinfect what will inevitably be a set of very nasty scars. I tell my torturers to clean their whips, but you can never really tell. They could be..." A bored hand spun in a circle as he summoned up the word, "_dirtying_ them on purpose, for all I know. Trying to see if a Melsi will die from a bit of filth in his cuts. But you're stronger than that, aren't you?"
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The Redstone Dungeons

As the men dropped him down on his stomach onto the cot and promptly left, puck didnt do much but shiver and pant, water already stained orange dripping onto the cot beneath him as he lay there pitifully. His hair damp and clinging to his brow, he looked up at Silas with a defensive glare, his teeth clicking together.

"I don't... Understand." He simply stated, but he didnt ask any questions, or state what he misunderstood. He just shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "...You want something." He said in a whisper. Straight to business, ignoring the nasty lash-marks that oozed.

The minor speculations of whether or not he would die were also ignored, not much of a problem to Snæch, he had heard every single Melsi insult. Even back in Melsoh. He was accustomed to the hate. In fact, he ran off of it. 

"I... Expected you all to toss me in the gardens, heh..." He smiled a little, making a joke of it all, still, even after his punishment for the day.
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
The Redstone Dungeons

A gentle hand was placed onto the boy's neck, three of his fingers forcing his head back down onto the cot. 

"If you insist on looking around, do it after I bandage up your wounds. I'm sure you'll agree that the last thing either of us needs is to aggravate your cuts." 

Silas removed a pinkened rag from his bag and began to apply pressure directly onto the cuts that stretched across his back. What they lacked in deepness they made up for in multitude, and he could see that marching the boy around had done little to allow the wounds to rest. He took a pinkened rag from his chest and soaked it in some water, pressing it down onto the cuts directly. He was sure that it would hurt the boy.

"For someone so distrusting and angry, you certainly are a friendly boy." His tone was comforting, but his fingers began to push at the cloth, spreading it out and pressing it down into the skin with a desire that was slowly mounting. There was some part of him, a part of him that was growing greater with every passing second, that wanted to hear him scream. He wanted to squeeze something from him, in the same way that he might play the violin. _Later._ he thought, and lifted the rag.

"Oh, young Puckgordon." Silas watched as a clear fluid began to drip down the boy's back, a sign of good health. "I don't want anything at all. I already have it. You heard the King when he gave you your sentencing, did you not? Three weeks under my employ, with two more lashings over the next three weeks. As my first of many gifts to you, I'll let you choose when they are." 

There was a knock at the door.
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The Redstone Dungeons

Forcing himself to remain still with his face pressed against the fabric, the only sign of pain that the boy expressed being eyes shut tight, nostrils flaring, his fists balling up, and his toes curling. Not a sound escaped him. 

He could feel this sort of aura that came from the physician. It made him naseated. Or maybe that was just from the pain. As his body shook from shock, he kept his eyes close, and spoke back through clenched teeth. "If I could, I'd kill... Kill him. That bastard..." He said, possibly in response to the whole 'friendly' comment. "Bugger had been... Leeching my patience... For a while..." He smiled through the pain, tears springing in his eyes and running over his nose. Perhaps the Melsi boy was already insane, no red walls required. "I bet he looks great without one of 'em big ears..."

After the offer, the choice, Puck was struck with a losing situation. He was not a coward, by any means. But he wondered if he could survive one hundred lashings in a day and get it over with. He was about to ask that very question when the knock came at the door, and he was cut off before he even began.
Rhonda
Silas Asgarov
The Redstone Dungeons

Silas said something in a foreign tongue and the door swung open on it's hinges, silent against the smooth ground of the redstone cell. Two serving girls came in carrying a boiling pot of wine. Again, he spoke incomprehensibly and the two placed it beside him. Small wisps of steam came off from the top and the room slowly became filled with the sweet smell of spices and vinegar. The two girls left without a word.

His eyebrow raised at the mentioning of leeches, but he realized quickly it was just an expression to phrase. "Have you ever been leeched?" He shook his head, "Unimportant, Puckgordon. Don't answer that, it'll only make me want to go and get my leeches." A pointed nail, painted a deep royal blue, tapped at his bottom lip. "But they _are_ beautiful creatures, especially here. They grow as big as a man's hand in the swamps of Reeve. You could drain a man of it's blood in an hour, not that your blood would be of any use to anyone." He giggled at that, a high, lilting laugh, "Well, what do I know? Maybe we'll figure it out, later in your apprenticeship. A lot of people think that Melsi blood is poison." After a moment, he took a new rag and dropped it in the wine. "I bet you'd like that." 

Although the pot was still hot, the wine had ceased it's bubbling and grown cold enough to apply. He took the rag out of the pot and wrung it out gently, so that the cloth was still saturated. It would remove whatever filth still remained within him, but it would sting harshly. 

"I once bit off a man's nose." Silas said, removing a leather strip from his bag and placed it between the boy's teeth, then brought his sleeve over the bottom of his palm and wiped away the boy's tears. 

"He thought he had killed me once he took off my ring but..." He chuckled softly and began to wash the wounds the wounds. 

After a moment, he continued, "He was wrong, wasn't he, young Puckgordon? Because _I'm_ still here and _he_ died of infection."
John
Puckgordon Snæch
The Redstone Dungeons

Puck grew even more uneasy as footsteps were around him, and the sweet and sour smell of hot wine permeated his senses. He felt his breathing hasten, panic happening within him, already knowing that this was going to hurt, his fate sealing with the leather strap placed between his teeth.

His teeth, though, were as beastly as a man could get, his upper canines elongated just enough to make you wonder if he really was a beast or not, and they were bared on full display as he looked up at Silas with uneasy suspicion.

The story was strange, to be said. But it did make Puck think about what kind of man he was really dealing with. The end of that story, where he died of infection... Well. 

A small sliver of hope. Maybe that bastard would die anyway, and they could even make a rumor about Melsi having venom. He nodded a little, not wanting to make much noise, still refusing to holler unless absolutely necessary.