GumGumChomp
That’s Enough, Let’s Get You Home.
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Ishtar's Complex
Items: Plain clothes, a preserved rose, armor, and a sword
Interacting With: The Broken and Gilgamesh
[/div][/div][div class=title]Mara[/div][div class=text]
About a week had passed since that fateful day, and Mara was slowly beginning to accept her fate. In the morning, they shuffled to breakfast. It tasted horrible, a mixture of plain congee and scraps, but if you didn’t eat, you’d collapse from the backbreaking work that was to come next. The ones who collapsed were either beaten or disappeared. Usually both. After the short time you were given to eat, you did your job. The lucky ones were assigned to construction. Physically taxing, but you could talk, and sometimes you simply had to push carts back and forth. Next luckiest were the cleaners. No talking whatsoever, but mostly easy work, though sometimes the messes were more… organic.
Lastly, were the soldiers. Trained by one of the leaders, Gilgamesh. Trained in both divine magic and combat. If you got a move wrong, you were beaten. If you talked, you were beaten. If you screamed while being beaten, you get the picture. Mara was assigned to this job and was assigned ice magic. Gilgamesh had learned it during his time in the underworld and was personally overseeing the teaching of that particular magic. Mara excelled in neither magic nor combat, and was forced into an intense training regimen, and was only allowed a day of rest when she was on the verge of death. She was exhausted both mentally and physically every single day, which only further destroyed her spirit.
Next in the day was lunch. Same as breakfast, except with bread and cheese instead of porridge. Nothing too special about that, except that it was never quite enough to keep one full. In the evening, they prayed. For hours and hours, they sat on their knees and worshipped their captors, furthur giving them power. Their legs were far past asleep when they finished, and none of them walked too well. The ones there long enough to be accustomed to it pretended to walk funny, taking it as a brief moment of rest. Then, they returned to bed, only to get up and shuffle back to breakfast, passing by that blood filled room every time.
After a month of living in the Complex, Mara began to become somewhat competent with magic. She couldn’t do anything major, but her ice could freeze a glass of water or pierce through a target. Her swordplay was still absolutely horrific, but she hoped, no, needed to get better. If she was to stop her training from making her limp to and fro, Mara was to become the best. If she wasn’t, they might stop needing her, and that was a thought she would not like to dwell on for long.
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Ishtar's ComplexItems: Plain clothes, a preserved rose, armor, and a sword
Interacting With: The Broken and Gilgamesh
[/div][/div][div class=title]Mara[/div][div class=text]
About a week had passed since that fateful day, and Mara was slowly beginning to accept her fate. In the morning, they shuffled to breakfast. It tasted horrible, a mixture of plain congee and scraps, but if you didn’t eat, you’d collapse from the backbreaking work that was to come next. The ones who collapsed were either beaten or disappeared. Usually both. After the short time you were given to eat, you did your job. The lucky ones were assigned to construction. Physically taxing, but you could talk, and sometimes you simply had to push carts back and forth. Next luckiest were the cleaners. No talking whatsoever, but mostly easy work, though sometimes the messes were more… organic.
Lastly, were the soldiers. Trained by one of the leaders, Gilgamesh. Trained in both divine magic and combat. If you got a move wrong, you were beaten. If you talked, you were beaten. If you screamed while being beaten, you get the picture. Mara was assigned to this job and was assigned ice magic. Gilgamesh had learned it during his time in the underworld and was personally overseeing the teaching of that particular magic. Mara excelled in neither magic nor combat, and was forced into an intense training regimen, and was only allowed a day of rest when she was on the verge of death. She was exhausted both mentally and physically every single day, which only further destroyed her spirit.
Next in the day was lunch. Same as breakfast, except with bread and cheese instead of porridge. Nothing too special about that, except that it was never quite enough to keep one full. In the evening, they prayed. For hours and hours, they sat on their knees and worshipped their captors, furthur giving them power. Their legs were far past asleep when they finished, and none of them walked too well. The ones there long enough to be accustomed to it pretended to walk funny, taking it as a brief moment of rest. Then, they returned to bed, only to get up and shuffle back to breakfast, passing by that blood filled room every time.
After a month of living in the Complex, Mara began to become somewhat competent with magic. She couldn’t do anything major, but her ice could freeze a glass of water or pierce through a target. Her swordplay was still absolutely horrific, but she hoped, no, needed to get better. If she was to stop her training from making her limp to and fro, Mara was to become the best. If she wasn’t, they might stop needing her, and that was a thought she would not like to dwell on for long.
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