The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[GamesMaster]

She sighs, and sits back a little, giving him a chance to observe the small, stark room he's in. There's a bedroll in the corner, the fire pit in the center, and a large trunk for belongings; not much else. 

"Well, you're to be convalescing here a few days, and it'll be good for you to get moving a little, keep things from scarring. how's your energy? Think ya can feed the chickens afore ya turn in for a nap?"

[The Iron Bull]

Bull stretches his neck, the bones popping loudly. "Prolly," he allows. "Depend on how many chickens there are tho. And, uh, there any more food? Need food more than anything else, t'be honest. Fuck, I'd even eat meat at this point."

[GamesMaster]

Miss Melissa turns to glance back at the pot regretfully, then stands, moving to refill the bowl. "Ye can have it, ye need it morn' I. If there's any eggs in the coop ye'll need the protein. Ye eat eggs?"

[The Iron Bull]

Bull frowns as well, then sighs. "More food, not your food," he says gruffly. "I can handle eggs, yeah." Taste nasty on their own, but my stomachs can handle them well enough. Hmmm. "What're the chickens fed?"

[GamesMaster]

"Handfuls of loose grain, stolen from ta fields," she says, shrugging. "We're allowed to keep defective animals, an' we steal what else we need for'm."

[The Iron Bull]

"Ah." Damn, there goes that idea. Well... "Any greens? Not grass but most anything else w'be fine."

[GamesMaster]

"I got some dandelion greens for th' goats, they're edible an' won't be missed much." 

[The Iron Bull]

"Those'll do," Bull says gratefully. "If you can keep an eye out for anything of that sort-- basically anything a goat could eat that's green or greenish-- I'd appreciate it. Enough of that sort of thing, I can skip on rations entire like. Well. Greens, plus salt, water and sun."

[GamesMaster]

She nods. "Ye'll be here a few days afore they work ya again, justa be safe. Can't control what ya do after that unless ya get hurt again or ya end up a field hand. They live here in these huts, growin' food to make the rest of the operation self-sufficient. Pregnant humans sometimes end up here too, less they got somethin special bakin' that needs a closer eye."

[The Iron Bull]

Bull nods slowly, absorbing the knowledge even if he doesn't have much use for it at the moment. "What other groups are there?" he asks thoughtfully, brow furrowed.

[GamesMaster]

"Mosta the compound is training buildings fer various things. Guards, sex workers, gladiators, ya name it, we got it. Out here in the outskirts is the dregs -- those too old, broken, willful, or common ta make excellent anythings. Life expectancy ain't long out here -- they need a sacrifice fer somethin, they pull from us dregs. I ain't exactly one 'f em, but I ain't not one neither. I'm ta be the healer fer the dregs, but iffin I get caught rebellin' I lose that cushy job an' become worthless. An' ya don' wanna be worthless to the Masters. That's the worst place to be at."

[The Iron Bull]

"How does one get in on the gladiator or guard training?" Bull asks thoughtfully. Not all that motivated to bleed or kill for these fucks but... 

[GamesMaster]

"Get picked fer it. Ya'll prolly get put there when 'ere done breakin ya in."

[The Iron Bull]

"How do they pick?" Bull presses.

[GamesMaster]

She shrugs. "Overall fitness fer duty. Fightin' prowess. Impressive looks. Ye gotsta have special talent ta get picked."