~<strong><em>Ryann, being led into the Ludus</em></strong>~<br/><br/>The dust coated the back of her throat. Covered her normally alabaster flesh in a thick cracking camouflage, settling so deep within her raven locks that the tresses were a matted mess. The shackles binding her wrists and ankles had cut into skin again and again, causing sanguine both dried and shiny wet to stain skin and dirt. She wore naught but the barest of loincloths, the hot dry wind fluttering the cloth to reveal her sex intermittently. Breasts were bare, deliciously full, round and firm, giving statement perhaps to those with a keen eye the status of her maidenhead. Beneath dirty derma muscle was tight and tense, yet there was a sweet swell of hip, a delightful curve of tight, round hillocks, giving the nature of her form both the seductive tease of a woman, combined with what looked to be the coiled strength of a lioness. Her face, though again painted with the detritus of the Roman landscape, could be seen to hold a youthful, even regal beauty. Lips full, teasingly kissable, even behind the snarl. High cheekbones, and eyes, oh her eyes. Slightly almond shape, enough to give off an exotic sense, and the hue of the most piercing emerald green. Those eyes alone told the story of what sort of woman was being led amongst the slaves heading into the Ludus Leonis Scopulus Tarraconensis.<br/><br/>They told that she was not a prisoner. She was not a slave. She was a warrior, she was royalty, and with her chin held high, with her eyes flashing bright, she moved into line with the other slaves as they were led into the training yard of the Ludus. Her gaze was traveling, swiftly and accurately, seeking all points of interest. Where weapons would be, if any. Escape routes if they could be seen. Anything and everything that would help her gain her freedom.<br/><br/>She was Ryann ap Elim, the daughter of the Ard Ri, and to her, the only option was escape. She would never allow these Roman scum to tame her, to bring her to her knees. Every place she had been taken to before had merely made the attempt to make her a house slave. None had succeeded, and yet...odd for this society...she was still alive. What did this Irish Princess have that had kept the sword off her neck?<br/><br/>As the slave train came to a shuffling halt in the middle of the training yard, as most others of the slaves to be offered held there head and eyes down, she kept hers up. Daring anyone to call her out on her pride. She looked to the balcony above, seeking out with a fierce determination the so called man that was to be her Domina. In her mind, she would either find a way to escape the bowels of this particular hell, or she would die in the attempt, and take any and all who got in her way with her.<br/><br/>It was the warrior way...