In the realm of Ania. War hasn't been seen in almost two-hundred years.

But for how long? Scattered across the nations and lands, many are living their everyday lives. Whether that being prosperous or one filled with misery. The Gods Of Fate however are always cruel. In every aspect, and in every way.

Kiladus

Bloompeak, Day 55, Turn 200AW

“Wake up, Cur!“ The sound of a heavy boot ramming itself into the ribs of a large Horned man cracked outward in the room, a sickening thud it was. The impact forced the horned brute to curl into himself a bit, trying desperately to shake off the pains, until finally it did. Taking a deep breath; he was given his taste of the day already, accompanied with the slight taste of copper laced across his tongue. The Horned creature pulled himself onto his feet looking at his sturdy form in a nearby puddle, the murky water still showed the red tints of his skin and the void white of his eyes.

His pupils--no longer there after years of dealing with his condition, his long white lion-like mane cast down his scarred body from years of enslavement. He was a few hundred years old, but Curselings age slowly. Thus explaining the youthfulness in his visage--That's why they were good for slave labor, or so he was told his whole life. He didn't start his life out like this, but this is where he is. Despite his stature and obvious physical ability, he was in no position to escape and he’s never had any real desire to--Not in a very long time anyways.

Soon enough he was with the others, some other Curselings, a few Beast Bloods, nevertheless, it was the same crew he saw everyday. 

“Kiladus!“ A voice greeted; a sheep boy named Gallo. He smiled, and waved at the giant demon as he began stepping over to place his hands on the brutes shoulder. It was a Beastblood. ‘The True folks‘ or so Kiladus was always taught. The Beast Bloods were the beast race that were said to be the first people to be created by the elements, using the wildlife in the world as their blueprint. Beast Bloods inhabited this world by themselves for thousands of unrecorded history before the other mortal races showed up. Now, however, most of the beast blood race are used as slave labor due to how adept they are with physical labor, able to work for days on end without tiring.They were second to none but the Curselings in terms of their inhuman stamina. 

In addition to this almost all of the Beast-Blood race has died out. This was because of the utter aggressiveness of the other mortal races, the kindred spirits of the early beast bloods didn't stand a chance against the monstrous mentality of a thousand angry orcs or the Explicit cunning of a fae. It was pretty pitiful in the grand gist of things.  All in all, they’ve never had it good. Mostly due to the other mortal races seeing them as sub-mortal due to their animal nature. Some other races like the minotaurs and other monster races even ate them. Kiladus himself never held any ill-will towards them however, even before his change.

“Good morning Gallo. Do you suppose they will serve meat with the gruel today?“ The thundering voice from the Curseling echoed out as he stood to his full height. He’d been sitting before, fiddling with some necklace of his. 

“Nope. Well, maybe for me they will. What more meat do you need? You're built like an OX already." The curvy Beast-Blood placed his hands on his hips and shook his head before he began to speak again, his hair drifting down to his back while he stared up at the endless blue above them. "You think the masters will let us ‘Perform’ for them again? Last time was immensely enjoyable if I may add.''

 Kiladus scoffed. “Speak for yourself. Not that you're not a good partner. Having sex for others isn't as enjoyable as having it for yourself.'' 

Gallo squatted down, watching some other Curselings pass them by, with horns longer than Kiladus’. “I guess you’d know… being a sex slave for as long as you were and all.“ The much smaller male said, kicking a rock while he placed his hands within the tattered means of his sack pants. His hooves, burying into the dirt until he flipped long golden locks out of his face. Kiladus shook his head again at him and laughed. Forever the pretty boy, he thought. “ Well. Let's get to work then. No need for you to stare at me all day, you're going to make the masters jealous if they see all of the attention you're giving me and not their precious Aether mines.“

 Kiladus playfully pushed him while he picked up his pick-axe--heading off into the tunnel right after him. “If a stray rock blinds me today and I never have to look at one of these glowing rocks again, it would be a blessing, from the elements themselves.“ The demon stated matter-of-factly. 

Afternoon soon faded and the sound of the shouting overseers and the cracking slice of their whips became background noises. Along with the heavy sounds of stones being crushed under the weight of supernatural beings.

 “Kiladus, the Masters of this estate wishes to speak with you.“ A figure in a dark blue cloak spoke, joined by others in the same attire. Ironically enough, they were known as the Blue Cloaks: Worn by the Josari, a race of people that came from the stars. They are a policing force that works for any form of higher government around Ania. They require little physical, enforcing only order.  Their world was destroyed long ago, due to uncontrolled chaos. Or so they claim. This strange group of people were given these blue cloaks by the head of the arena some time after the Great War. After all, to police the governments meant a more functionally running arena. Anyone that steps out of the political grasp of the arena - would have to answer to these mystical yet stoic beings.

This meant trouble for not only the common man, but also those with political power as well. Should Kings and Queens, Emperors so wished to step out of line against the arena and start working on their own accord? The Blue Cloaks were the first to be sent out. This also meant the Blue Cloaks weren’t particularly adored by the general masses. From nobility to common folk. Sure enough each Kingdom had their own form of police forces. Kingdoms and their Knights, etc. So despite their purpose, the Blue Cloaks are rarely called upon. Or issued a legitimate place of work. Mostly due to distrust, after all, they as a people are still fairly new. Arriving only two-hundred years ago. They started working in this specific region about twenty-five years ago. They are fairly harmless though. So long as you do as you're told. This one, was of female gender and smiled at the slave as she spoke. Her words were calm and sweet. It stood out, and even almost seemed louder than the screams of slaves getting their skin slashed apart by heavy plated whips. Her eyes glowed bright blue and her hair moved like a flame. 

“The masters wish to see me?'' Kiladus asked, a bit confused as he cocked a brow.

 “Yes, another is soon to arrive. Their carriage should anchor in shortly. An esteemed guest who declares that he knows you. Please, leave your pickaxe with your overseer, and come with me.'' She turned on her heel to lead the Curseling elsewhere. 

The overseer, a rather fat man sitting on his ass and gnawing on tobacco, spat out the black goo. Snatching Kiladus's pickaxe away from him with a sneer. “Aye, you’d best return… these fucking rocks not gonna break themselves.“ He spewed on Kiladus's foot, only to turn his head up again. Smiling at him with ruined black teeth. 

Kiladus stared, but did not show a sliver of emotion. He knew better than to do that. On his way, he’d pass the mining yards. Thousands upon thousands of Curselings, but not many as old as he. He was known as a ‘First Born‘, one of the first generations. Their chiseled hands gripped tightly to axes while they continued slamming against heavy rocks, hoping to break through to make another mining tunnel. One they more than likely had to complete before the sun fell. It made his stomach lump up into knots, twists and turns. It was a sight he’d never gotten used to.