Scrapped commission from  FortunataFox

Morland, a captured sea otter turned slave on Samdbeach, is offered a poor set of choices by Tarlo Greeneyes. Menial labor under the lash, or menial labor to him.

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Tarlo sat in a dining area, it was an open and peaceful place where the two could hear gulls chirping nearby. The arches of wood and clean marble floor were relaxing, the rugs of wool and heavenly looking drapes blocked out the wayward sun but did not block out the light gusts of cool wind. This had all been by design, with the comfy dining area more an outside porch then an inside debacle. Tarlo sat in a decorated chair, eating away at his breakfast, and in front of him sat Morland who looked on with dumbfounded concern. Tarlo had removed the shackles from his feet and paws, but their weight still haunted him. The otter was served a bowl of fillet fish with spices which tortured his nose with how good it smelled, the slave who served him couldn’t help look at him with some jealousy, but also a faint amount of pity. Tarlo looked at the otter and gulped down a piece of fish.

“So, as you should know, good otter, my brother and I’s little scuffle yesterday means I had to give up a nice contingent of foreign warriors for the likes of you to make peace. By god, you haven’t even touched your food! Eat up, I demand it.”

Morland feared what may happen if he didn’t, and weakly took the soup bowl in his paws and sipped it. It hurt a bit, the branding on his face and weakness made it difficult for him, but his eyes widened and he began to chow down like the starved beast he was on the food. Before he realized, he had made a mess, and calmed down to eat more slowly. Tarlo couldn’t help but give a simple laugh.

“Ah, hungry, eh? Tell me, what is your name?”

“M-Morland.”

Tarlo looked up from his meal and stopped eating, and Morland noticed. Fear overcame him as he had no clue what he said wrong. Tarlo corrected him in a friendly voice.

“You are to say ‘Morland, sir’ or ‘Morland, master’. Tis the way of things of a creature of your station. If you wish to be my servant, which to be honest I had never even really owned one before, I think it's best to start from the top.”

Morland gritted his teeth, the food returning some strength and color to him “I only have one master, cat. Tis the lord of Green Isle.”

Tarlo chuckled “I see, but you can call me Tarlo. Tarlo Greeneyes, but I’d prefer you just call me ‘sir’.” Tarlo sipped on a finer glass of wine and looked to Morland. “I see my food gives you spirit, otter, but it is unbecoming of a servant such as yourself.”

“My people aren’t servants, nor slaves.”

“Not how I am seeing it. Mother always taught me my breed is by nature superior to workers and servants such as yourself, and father seems to command your kind quite dutifully. I’ll be honest with you Morland, I am usually quite at a loss at what to do with you. You are but honestly my first servant. Usually I do most of the things I want to do by myself, and frankly I have no time to act as my brother does. I do believe you met him, right?”

Morland gave a slow nod. Tarlo continued “What clan do you come from Morland? Oh, and do try the fried onions next to you, it's quite good.”

“Wavedog.”

Tarlo felt a little annoyed. He never really encountered an otter with spirit before who didn’t refer to him as ‘sir’ or ‘master’. It was actually quite uncomfortable. His mother taught him that their kind were natural leaders and rulers, and that all beasts were below them as servants. He knew full well that not every beast accepted this position, nor was happy with it, but he had always known this truth to be self-evident. “Morland, you must learn to be less rude.”

“I’ll be less rude when me and me folk are free beasts again, Tarlo.” Morland felt that twinge of bravery within him. He may have been defeated and weak, but he was angry. Tarlo scoffed “Freedom for your kind is just death and madness for mine. However, since you seem so intent on this path, I will give you a simple choice. You can either accept your role as my servant and follow dutifully. . .or I can have you sent back to wherever you came from to cool off.”

“You would be sending me to die anyhow.” Morland choked as Tarlo looked him over “I don’t really think that, Morland. You had a choice to die when you were captured, and if I know my mother’s words correctly, if given a choice between servitude and death, your kind would prefer to live. Here you are, serving under a lash. This bravado is all just smoke and mirrors when you really think about it.”

Morland looked on silently, because Tarlo was oddly right. He had an opportunity to speak out and had not, and it was a simple feeling gnawing at the back of his mind. He feared death. He hated to know what awaited him beyond this world, and that had prevented him from speaking out. He was a marine and a warrior, but he wanted the position of one, not to fight in a war. The otter’s face went slump with defeat as Tarlo finished up his breakfast.

“So, what will it be. Will I guide you back to your taskmaster, or will you start calling me ‘sir’ now?”

Morland winced, opening his mouth to speak and began to speak.