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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Sept 23, 2019 3:40:19 GMT
It was a hot day, and the marketplace was crowded as ever. People were pressed in close as they shopped, with only enough room to provide a narrow pathway for carts and animals. The general hubbub of the populace provided a comforting blanket, with only the occasional call for seeing wares or to move a camel out of the road breaking the even tones. In other words, it was a typical day. Also as usual, there was much buzz about the slave market that sat near the edge of the town, surrounded by high walls and many guards to maintain the peace against any slaves who suddenly rebelled. This was where the one caravan was headed, coming through the city’s massive gates into the corner that harbored the competitive market. Music could be heard from the brothels that bordered the market, mixing into the sounds of the streets below, the guards and merchants conversing.
The trader himself was a large man, with dark hair, deep skin, and a wide smile that seemed able to threaten even when being genteel. His attire was lavish, as any successful slave trader’s was, with jewels and satin and feathers of rare birds marking him out as a man of importance and wealth. He watched smugly as his slaves were unloaded into the pens, ready to be put up for auction. As always, he’d have to make sure that the auctioneer’s cut wasn’t too drastic, but uncharacteristically he waited to see one slave in particular be unloaded. He couldn’t help it; as soon as the man saw the golden brown hair, his smile twisted a little, enjoying the slow pace as the slave was directed into the holding cells.
He’d lost a son to the war, several years before. Every time he’d gotten a captive or slave from that land, he had enjoyed watching them be sold. Humiliated as much as possible by being turned into mere possessions, most often for those who wished to take out their frustrations on. With his thirst for revenge momentarily quenched, he began stroking his greying beard as he began to walk towards the far more elegant front door of the space, ready to bargain for his slaves.
If the guards had been looking forward to beating the slave into submission, they were to be disappointed; the man never once resisted their commands, finally sinking to the floor as he was pushed into a corner, awaiting whatever new command would be given. One look at his throat explained all; a collar, made of an etched metal band and bearing a green stone. Only in the shadows could the faint glow from the stone be seen, identifying what it was. To see it used on a slave was impressive, often increasing the price by increasing interest. Enchanted collars such as these were expensive, used only on slaves that required extreme measures of control. Only the owner was able to remove the collar, ownership that could be transferred by coin.
The look of defiance was gone from the dark grey eyes, once stormy as the sea before turning into listless mist, staring blankly at whatever was before him. His stature was strong, taller than most of those around him, but it was hardly an imposing nature that kept the guards whispering about him, not wanting to be overheard by the other slaves but unable to help the wonder. The other slaves were more local, dark haired and far less exotic looking than the pale man, with his golden brown hair slicked into scraggly chunks from the dirt of travel. But their nations were at war, had been for over a hundred years. No one could remember how the war really started, or why, although rumors and traditions abounded to provide so-called facts and history. But it was always an exciting moment for an enemy to be dragged this far into the heart of their empire as a slave, rather than just a decaying corpse to be spat upon.
Only a handful of the other slaves had been there when the foreigner was captured, cursing loudly and struggling with every step. He’d been taken as one of a handful of survivors from a scouting party that had been found, and with three slave traders much bargaining and gold was passed around before the survivors were delivered to their new owners. This one had been the most stubborn of the lot, unwilling to stop fighting, prepared to die rather than live as a prisoner. Why else had the collar been brought out? The slave trader knew well enough that the man would not bow his head willingly. So the collar had been used to force him.
Lucian had recognized the collar immediately, taking three men just to hold him still long enough for the collar to be put on him. By the time he felt the cold metal against his skin, he had been begging the guards, but they had no pity for one of their enemies. The collar had snapped on, and immediately the pain became crushing. The last thing he could really recall from that was crying out, his screams finally being gagged as he was left chained to the wall, keeping him from even trying to remove the device from his neck. He didn’t know how long he had fought it, minutes, maybe hours, maybe days. It had felt like years, as if all he knew was the pain, the fire within his veins, the crushing weight against his chest, feeling the force of his will being pushed down… until his mind finally broke under the strain. All he knew when the pain finally ebbed away was that the pain was gone, and he was left waiting, listless, only coming to when given a command, obeying any order from anyone. The days had melted together since the collar was placed on him, a simple blur he couldn’t quite recall. But it didn’t matter. With the collar, nothing mattered. Not the soft sobbing of a frightened slave near him, nor the judgmental crowds that eagerly contended for each person that was dragged out for show. Nor the mounting excitement to get their hands on the enemy.
It could have been seconds or years before he was being pulled up, guided to stairs that wound about past several sets of guards before coming out to the stage where the slaves were fought over with money rather than weapons, although fist fists were not an uncommon occurrence in such raucous crowds. There was only one slave standing in line before him, waiting for the previous one to reach as high a price as possible before being shuttled off to the side once more for storage, awaiting their new master. There was electricity in the air even as the crowd seemed mildly disappointed at the next slave in the line. It was hard to keep a secret like a golden-haired foreigner for long, and already figures could be seen amongst the crowd, waiting for the one slave to bid on and take out their pain and anguish on. So many of the crowd had suffered because of the war, survivors scarred and maimed. And so many wanted revenge…
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Post by Kelathi on Sept 27, 2019 21:53:43 GMT
Clothes cut from the finest cloth might suggest nobility, and he was indeed skilled at playing such a role. However, just a few moments in his company would be evidence enough to tell that he was anything but the gentleman that he sometimes portrayed himself to be. Just a flash of his infamous, yet charming smile would give one no doubt as to whom exactly they were talking to. With his startling lavender-hue eyes, he was an unmistakeable individual that had built rather an extensive reputation. The mischievous glint in his eye was enough to strike both anger and anxiety into the heart of any guard he was faced with, and it had often been said that you would have as much luck trying to trap fog with your fingers as pin him down. Any imprisonment was sure to be short-lived; he was as slippery as oil and elusive as a shadow on a dull day.
Long, wild black hair was gathered loosely at his back by a gold clasp, which was doing a terrible job of taming his wild hair, a few strands always falling free to frame a handsome face. Caramel-coloured skin complemented this dark hair, and he was a successful thief of not just possessions but also the hearts of women and men alike, depending largely upon his fickle whim. A slight frame echoed his reliance on agility rather than strength, although he was indeed skilled in hand-to-hand combat providing he had a sword at his aid rather than just fists. One such sword, a beautiful piece with a curved blade, was indeed strapped to his waist, the leather scabbard unassuming but of obvious quality should one look closely. Quick, nimble and cunning, he was everything a thief should be, and armed with his silver-tongue he had managed to garner quite the following. This band of brotherly thieves had the city divided, with some referring to them with affection and others with scorn. To many, they were the Jays, named after the bird’s tendency to steal shiny trinkets. The guards preferred to dub them rats, and with the way they scrambled across the city, this description was just as accurate as the other.
It wasn’t petty cash or a handful of food that encouraged this thieves' itchy fingers, but rather the promise of a reward that might at first seem un-attainable. He thrived in any challenge that tested his abilities, and any enforced period of lying low was sure to be met with impatience and scorn. It wasn’t enough to just steal a nobleman’s prized possession, no, he wanted to steal it from right under their nose, with the man still in the room, his back having turned only for a split second. It was this seemingly uncanny ability to steal items from within plain sight that had him ever dancing on the periphery of superstition. Many nobles claimed that just a look from the man was enough to ensure that every gold ring that had been on your fingers moments before would be gone within seconds, as if by magic. And yet, despite his seemingly otherworldly skills, his oddly coloured eyes and impossibly nimble feet… magic did not serve him, at least not in the way thought of by most, and much to his vexation. Many a time would he idly daydream of the mischief he might cause should he have possession of such magical abilities, but his past ensured that such a blessing would never be afforded him.
Today, he felt buoyed. Walking through the poorer parts of the city afforded him affection rather than contempt from passers-by, and therefore there was little need for him to hide his striking and easily recognisable appearance. It was also perfect for stroking his ego, and he always felt a certain kind of lightness in his step as he walked these streets that were undoubtedly his. Having been raised in the slums, it was well known that he did not steal from the place that had fathered him, and often, he would give back to the people here. Despite what people may say, there was indeed honour amongst thieves, at least amongst the Jays, and for that reason many were happy to see him here. The guards rarely visited such parts, and if they did decide to pay an impromptu visit, the thief had many friends and would know almost immediately of their arrival. He would be gone long before they even set foot onto the dirt-paved streets.
Not too far ahead, the wall that separated the heart of the city from these poverty-ridden dwellings, loomed, and it was this he headed towards. Instead of heading towards one of the archways that led into the inner circle, where a crowd of people were controlled in a healthy flow, he steered far clear and began to walk alongside the wall, whistling light-heartedly as he went. Crowds thinned, and at some seemingly random point he suddenly turned his back to the wall, and after a little run and jump, began to scale a building. His actions were quick and calculated, having clearly taken this route before, and soon he was leaping off the building and onto the wall, where a crevice, weather-beaten and created by age, caught his form. From this point on there were small handholds, cracks in the wall or jutting stones, and he knew all by heart as he scrambled up as nimbly as a rat. The wall easily towered at least a hundred metres above the ground, and there were other, far easier ways of entering the centre of the city… but none of which afforded him the spike in adrenaline, nor the fun of this one. He was almost sorry when he reached the top, although of course, it wasn’t over yet. On top of the wall, guards patrolled, although they clearly didn’t do a very good job of it, as not once, in all the times that he had used this route, had he been caught in the process of scaling the wall nor when he alighted on the ramparts on the top. He even slowed a little as he began to cross, like a man taking a steady stroll rather than an infiltrator, but the guards all had their attentions focussed on the archways far below and the people passing through. Mildly disappointed, the thief went on his way.
On the inside of the wall, the houses were of much better quality, and therefore towered higher than those in the slums. As a result, the thief need only do a bit of scaling down the wall before leaping onto the nearest house, all of which was completed efficiently, almost with a tone of boredom, as if it were all just too easy. In a moment of spontaneity, he slipped into one such home, the window having been left carelessly ajar, and returned moments later with a wig of long, curly red hair. He stifled a laugh as he donned it, the wig reminding him of some fond memory, before lifting his hood so that the upper part of his face was hidden by shadows, and descended back to street level. As if by magic, none were privy to his actions, and he soon melted into a crowd of people with ease. It was not long before he found what he was looking for.
The thief, unlike many in this place, had not been touched by the horror of the War. He did not concern himself with politics; those were problems for Kings and nobles, and he had only one living blood relative. Though he cared about her wellbeing dearly, she had never and was likely never to see battle. And yet, to hear of a foreign slave being paraded to the rich, like some slab of exotic meat ready for the taking... he wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling, or why he felt drawn to the slave market to see for himself. A kind of morbid curiosity, perhaps?
He heard the excited chatter long before he came upon the scene. Clearly, he was one of many whom were curious to see the wares, although he sensed a ripple of emotion through the crowd that threatened to spill over into a physical altercation should they be kept waiting any longer. From his position, he could see that a few slaves had already been taken to the side, waiting to be collected at the end by their new owners. Slavery was an everyday part of life, and it was something the thief felt largely neutral about. He’d never had one himself, but it was rather due to the fact that he had no need for one, rather than any sense of compassion for their plight. As he waited, the thief felt the gentle press of paws on his shoulder, and something soft curled around the edge of the hood to brush against his neck. The feline-like creature that had just alighted upon him looked similar to a ferret in build, with a long, bushy feline-like tail but pointed, fox-like features. Such an animal was a common enough sight in the city, and treated often with contempt, as they were known for being little devils when it came to stealing from food stalls. What was different about this one, was that it’s eyes held the same, strange lavender-hue as it’s owners, although it’s movements were often so quick it was hard to catch, and often dismissed as a trick of the light. At this moment, however, it’s gaze was sharp, focussed intently on the stage.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Sept 28, 2019 4:07:36 GMT
There were murmurs in the crowd, some antagonists even starting to whisper rumors that the foreigner wasn’t even in the town. What was with the stalling? The auctioneer on the stage seemed perfectly happy to let the bidding linger on every slave, even though it was clear why the crowds were so healthy that day. Some weren’t even interested in bidding, only wanting a glimpse of the enemy, the desire to see a Sjeverni beaten into submission.
The skinny young woman was finally released from the stage once the price of two hundred silver had been settled, sheltering with the rest in the holding cell, guards either directing the slaves or slowly walking along the edge of the stage, ever alert, ever ready for an attack. This was one reason why, when he was called up, the Sjeverni slave was flanked by two guards even with the collar making him obedient. The fact that he had killed two guards and injured three more bare handed in an attempt to escape was reason enough to restrain him. His status required a collar to avoid killing such a valuable prize, but the guards remained wary of him. There had been a desperation to him that they weren’t familiar with in a slave, even a captive enemy. As if he couldn’t risk being a prisoner.
With a widening smirk that betrayed who was to come next onto the stage, the auctioneer swung an arm open towards the Sjeverni as he appeared. At first, a moment of silence, shock at actually seeing the golden brown hair, the fair skin… then a ripple of triumphant energy and noise escaped the crowd like the roar of a beast. Even his slow, stilted step from the collar didn’t distinguish the excitement of the onlookers as he was brought up alongside the auctioneer, their appearances strong contrasts on a number of levels. The auctioneer was a proud man, strong but round, with a twinkle in his eye that would have been charming had it not been for the wicked grin he offered at the growing buzz of his audience. Dressed in satin robes befitting a peacock in colors and rich design, he looked nearly as rich as a king with the ego to match.
What clothes the slave wore were mere rags, but he was bare from the waist up, in part to ensure they had removed every weapon from him. As the crowd regarded him, it also showed his physique, tall, wiry rather than large, but visibly strong. It also revealed the bruises across his body, the cuts and marks both new and old. His wrists were bound before him, making it easier for the guards to position him, but it simply emphasized the use of the collar. Even with his hair and skin streaked with dirt, a scar running straight down across both lips, there was no denying his looks, except perhaps to those who had seen features like his before and knew what they made of it. The grey eyes remained lifeless as they looked out upon the crowd, slightly lidded, impassively listening to the crowd baying for his blood.
It was necessary to give the crowd time to settle after the slave’s introduction, the auctioneer not overly bothered if the smug look on his face was any evidence. Not only did he have the pleasure of selling off a Sjeverni, alive and broken, but he’d be able to earn quite a bit from the sale. He’d had to lower his percentage, as the slave’s owner was well aware of the man’s worth in the market, but it would still be quite a tidy sum. Finally, his arm rose, the long silk fluttering a little in the breeze that danced around the crowd, slowly drawing the noise to a minimum.
“My friends,” the man began, as friendly as any salesman, regarding the crowd warmly with open arms. “Before us, we see an opportunity… a chance to see our noble warriors victorious over the northern dogs.” A cheer rang up at the slur, the tone chilling for the slaves. All but one. “It is by our warriors’ courage, their honor… their noble sacrifice that we are kept safe from those who would destroy us. And it is by their skill that they have captured this enemy, to allow us vengeance… the satisfaction of knowing that one of their own must be obedient to us!”
Here he shook the man’s shoulder, earning only a sway. No retaliation, no fight. It was clear in the crowd that a few found this unsatisfactory, that the Sjeverni wouldn’t know of his punishment. The rest were simply enjoying the show. “A monster so easily tamed. So easily broken!” the auctioneer went on dramatically, earning increasingly louder cheers. Then, with his fist, he punctuated his last few words with a powerful right hook to the slave’s jaw.
“So easily defeated!”
It had been a good hit. There wasn't that much difference in height between the two. The impact alone should have sent the sedated man to the floor.
Even the auctioneer was visibly surprised as the man took one stumbled step back, only to return to his original position as originally ordered. As his head came back round from the blow, it was clear it had split his lip, a trickle of blood already working its way down his chin. The gaze remained empty, unaffected by the blow, or the startled moment of calm from the unexpected response. This was no act of defiance. This wasn’t an act at all.
Quick thinking saved the moment, the auctioneer quickly turning to the crowd with a convincing smile. “Do you see, friends? A warrior so strong! Yet here he is, a slave to whoever can outbid the competition. Let us start at a hundred!”
Voices in the crowd rose once more.
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Post by Kelathi on Sept 29, 2019 23:03:26 GMT
The thief hadn’t been as ready for the sight as he had initially thought. One glimpse of the slave’s listless gaze was enough to draw the thief’s eyes immediately to the collar around the man’s neck, and his gut twisted unpleasantly. He had come across such devices before, but had been fortunate to avoid such a fate, himself. Used only to keep the most unruly or valuable under control, the common people referred to it as the Choke, and the mere sight of it would be enough to pique the crowd’s already heightened curiosity. The item itself was a pretty little thing, it’s intricate design belying it’s cruel nature. It had the disturbing ability to inflict pain enough to drive the wearer near mad, and as such, was the most effective means of ensuring that there would never be an attempt to escape. It was dark magic, magic meant to break the mind and crush the soul. No man deserved such a fate, not even his enemy. He was certain he was not the only one who felt a coldness rush up his spine at the sight of such a relic, but feeling the emotion of the crowd, he certainly seemed to be the only one feeling pity for the slave. Of course, he wasn’t surprised. These were the noble-born; they never had, and never would know suffering like this.
The strike from the slave trader was also unsurprising, but still it produced a grimace from the thief, his jaw clenching as anger flared. It really was like kicking a dog whilst it was down, even if the slave hardly even stumbled, his lack of reaction spoke volumes as to what the Choke had already done to him. This man would accept any punishment. The creature at the thief’s shoulder seemed to sense it’s owner’s growing rage, it’s fur bristling as it leapt away from him, scurrying into the crowd and soon disappearing from sight. The thief himself, didn’t seem to notice, his burning gaze settling on the slaver. It was clear what was about to happen here. The trader would fill his pockets, and the buyer would relish in torturing the their prize before finally dispatching him. There was to be no mercy here, the slave would merely be an outlet for the pain and hatred that the war instilled in the people. The bidding had very quickly risen from one hundred gold coins to three hundred before the thief acted, decision made.
Pulling out the dark red, velvet ladies gloves that he had snatched alongside the wig from his pocket, he slipped them smoothly onto his hands, before raising his arm to garner the attention of the slave trader. The round man nodded towards the cloaked figure, waiting to hear the thief’s offer, but instead of speaking of trading coin, the slaver got more than he was asking for… For one thing, it was not a male voice that emerged from the hood’s shadows. Indeed, it sounded like the low, dulcet and sultry tones of a woman. When they were young, many an evening had the thief practiced with his sister, getting her to repeat phrases so that he might try to mimic her voice, much in vain. Whilst his face reddened with frustration, he had offered hours of entertainment, with she near-rolling on the floor in her hysterics. He did eventually learn what was needed to shape the words convincingly, how to raise the pitch and yet cut out the high tones that gave the voice a comical tone. Soon, he had had her in stitches but this time over how accurate his impressions were. He remembered these nights now, in startling clarity, as he began to use the skills he had learnt so long ago.
“Are we truly expected to pay full price for such damaged goods?”
The words shocked the crowd into momentary stillness, quite a few turning their heads to try and pinpoint whom was speaking. The woman’s voice sounded bored as she continued, as if she had merely come to the marketplace out of a vague curiosity, and had found herself disappointed with what she had found.
“This slave is damaged. Would you expect an artist to pay full price for a canvas already painted on? Or a customer to pay for an apple that is bruised?”
Shocked silence slowly turned into a murmur of agreement that ran through the crowd, steadily growing in force, and the slave-driver felt a sinking feeling in his gut as his wide grin began to falter, and look a little strained. Instead of exploding, he was all too aware that it would take delicacy to sway the crowd back, in order to line his pockets with the gold he so-desired. So he feigned interest and concern in what the mysterious woman was saying, smile strong as ever but somehow not quite reaching his eyes. “Pray, tell, my good lady, what you would consider a more reasonable price?”
A challenge. A pause. Unseen within the shadows of the hood, the thief’s eyes roamed over the slaves that had already been sold. What had the woman gone for? Oh yes, 200 silver…
“I should think the bidding should start at 300 silver.”
Gasps...
But also laughter.
The suggestion was clearly meant to be an insult, it was too low not to be. But with glee, a few people in the crowd began to shout, bidding again but this time without the help of the trader, throwing out half-serious bids from one side of the crowd to the other, happily jumping on the opportunity to mock the slaver. Oh, how easily the tides could be changed when offered the chance of a little entertainment. As the voices began to rise again, punctuated now with raucous laughter, some people even suggesting that the slave should be free, the slaver finally rediscovered his voice, raising his hands as well as his voice to emphasise his words, desperately trying to win back the crowd. “My most esteemed friends! Fret not! I understand your concern. Let me, please, rectify this.” The crowd began to settle down again, eyes turning once more eagerly to the stage. The slaver placed his hands together as he began again, choosing his words carefully. “Perhaps I may have been too hasty with such a high price… but let us not forget that this is not only a pureblood Sjeverni, but a fierce and strong one at that. You have all also noticed, I am sure, the use of the Choke, which in themselves are rare and must be taken into account with the pricing.” He spoke almost apologetically, as if it were not in his power to reduce the price, and as he skimmed his eyes over the crowd, he could see a few nods of agreement. “So… let us begin again! At… 500 silver.” It was a compromise, one that pained him greatly, but hopefully the bidding would increase, and take him very quickly back into the realm of gold coins, or at least near. It was an absolute steal, and therefore might actually work in his favour, in reigniting the crowd’s excitement enough to forget the woman’s damning, interfering words.
Bidding began once more, and once more it was led by the slaver. It was nearing 100 gold again when the damned woman raised her hand.
The slaver considered ignoring her, but he could see a few people had noticed her raised arm, and were looking at him with interest. He could not snub her without someone drawing attention to it… so he forced his smile even wider, and waved his arm towards her. “Do you have an offer, my lady?”
The thief’s mouth cocked into a smile, and unseen, his eyes twinkled. His voice was calm but crystalline clear as he next spoke.
“I’ll take him for 500 gold coins.”
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Sept 29, 2019 23:54:31 GMT
The auctioneer was not only being accosted by the woman before the stage, but was losing ground with even the guards beside him. One of the two watching the listless slave glanced at his companion, his breath soft but audible. “Three hundred silver? Even I might afford that…”
His tone clearly indicated that he wasn’t about to waste his coin on something as “damaged” as this slave, however, particularly one that was likely to be killed one way or another. Even if someone bought the Sjeverni to keep, it was doubtful with so much dissent in the crowd that the slave would be kept alive for long.
As the bidding resumed, even with shouts that distracted from the slave trader’s focus, there was a palpable stillness at the sudden increase in price. The auctioneer’s eyes went wide, thoroughly confused at the infuriating woman’s attempt to lessen his take only to increase it far beyond where it had gone before. This shift in fortune he took with a much stronger stride, smiling and bowing to her. “I see the lady knows quality when she sees it, even if it is… bruised like an apple,” he noted, earning laughs with repeating her own words and mocking the injuries on the slave. The crowd seemed uninterested in going so high, even to quench a thirst for vengeance, and the auctioneer began to sense the sale was at an end.
“Five hundred gold coins was the last bid! Does anyone wish to go higher?” He paused, dramatically, now that the woman was falling back in line for the slave market. Before he could speak again, he was cut off by a gruff voice, soft but somehow clearly audible.
“Six hundred.”
Everyone paused, gasps at the price going even higher being outnumbered by gasps of astonishment and recognition. Inwardly, the trader cringed; General Abd Al-Rashid strode through the crowds up towards the stage, his dark gaze focused on the slave rather than the trader. It wasn’t common for the general to come to the slave market, but with his wooden leg and walking stick, he still made an indelible impression on the people. A war hero, blinded in one eye, shown reverence wherever he went for his sacrifices in keeping Dakhani safe.
The trader was less than thrilled to see the man, knowing very well that no matter what amount was thrown out, he could always outbid. After all, it wasn’t like a war hero of his stature and legacy could be made to pay the amount in full, now could he? And the lady was unlikely to challenge the general’s bid, as was clearly expected by the man’s confident demeanor even as he studied the slave’s face carefully. And was that a glimmer of recognition in his one dark eye? Difficult to tell from a distance. The auctioneer certainly didn’t care to look long enough into the man’s eye, instead almost pleading with his audience, hoping someone would be willing to try and outbid the general. Surely there was someone else who hated the Sjeverni more…?
“Friends, we have a bid of six hundred,” he began, managing somehow to control his nerves at the thought of making possibly even less than the woman had insisted the price go down to. “Do we have any challengers?”
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Post by Kelathi on Sept 30, 2019 0:15:31 GMT
The thief’s form stiffened as a new voice suddenly threw themselves into the mix, and he resisted the urge to turn and glare at whomever it belonged to. Who would bid such a number? The thief had been sure that his word would have been the last; it was an excessive price to offer even for a noble, even with the promise of such a prize. The one who wished to outbid him must be rich indeed, and clearly wanted to flaunt that fact… or perhaps they were in possession of an even greater hatred of the Sjeverni than others. Mouth set into a grim line, the thief raised his hand again, and saw with some curiosity that the slaver seemed relieved that he wasn’t backing down. Shifting loyalties were clearly rampant about these parts.
“550.” “600.” “610.” “650.”
The intruder wasn’t backing down, and the thief could feel himself growing frustrated. He wouldn’t be expected to pay the sum in full this instant, just a decent enough deposit, which he had on hand, and rustling up the rest of the money by the end of the day would be no problem… but that wasn’t the point. He took the other man’s bidding as a personal affront, an insult, no less. Unbeknownst to himself, his opposition would not be an issue for much longer. No sooner had the thief raised the bar to “660,” did he hear a ruckus coming from the direction of the voice? He resisted the urge to turn around, although many about him did, curious to see what the problem was and where the man’s next bid was, which for the moment wasn’t forthcoming. In it’s place were a string of curses, most unbecoming of a noble, which were fading with distance and the sound of somebody scrambling to make a quick exit.
“Do I win?” the thief asked sweetly, the slaver’s wide-eyed, surprised gaze moving from the scene behind the thief and redirecting to ‘her’.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Sept 30, 2019 0:57:55 GMT
The trader seemed on the verge of a stroke, with the numbers tossed about, jumping in tiny increments to large sums. Every time the gruff voice of the general rose again, increasingly annoyed, the trader seemed to pale. Even though the woman had initially bid below the general, it was at least better than what little scraps he’d get from the general.
To everyone’s surprise, however, once the bid raised to 660 coins, the general was… attacked? A ferret seemed intent on biting at the tassels on the man’s royal attire, perhaps mistaking one for prey. This was enough of a distraction for the man and those around him to even pull their attention from the bidding and slave at hand.
As the trader’s eyes moved back to finally truly meet the lavender gaze of the woman who had managed to utterly disrupt the proceedings, she offered an innocently sweet gaze in return, coy in what was being suggested. The trader latched onto it in a heartbeat.
“SOLD! For six hundred and sixty gold coins to the dear lady!” he quickly announced, the crowd receiving the news with mixed reactions. Anger that they had missed the last of the bidding, that the general hadn’t gotten the slave after all, or in some cases, pleasure that the general hadn’t gotten what he was unlikely to pay for. “Better luck next time, my dear General Al-Rashid,” he added, clearly smug that the man wouldn’t be getting the prize after all.
“Prepare the lady’s new slave,” he ordered his guards more softly, clearly suggesting that he wanted the slave off his hands as quickly as possible. There were many possible reasons why, the general high on the list, but there was also the new risk of someone upset enough that the general had lost the bet and would try to kill the slave before the new owner could take charge. Then the trader wouldn’t get his percentage. Even in the holding cells, little more than cages to show off the wares, it would have been near impossible to shelter such a valuable slave.
Before the crowds could grow too annoyed with the sudden change of events, he quickly pulled up the next slave, whose aggression and struggle was a stark contrast to the Sjeverni, pulling the attention of the crowd back to what it was there for, bidding for slaves.
Down another set of stairs, through cells and past rows of guards protecting the far side of the complex along with the gate. Lucian never once challenged or wavered in his step, not even when the slaver who was selling him came to meet the buyer. His gaze lit up at seeing the red-haired figure walking towards them, unaware that the figure settling in behind them by the gate was watching with a dark, narrowed gaze, a few soldiers loyally flanking their general.
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Post by Kelathi on Oct 9, 2019 22:24:43 GMT
Needless to say, the thief was pleased with his victory, however ill gotten it had been. Even so, he forced himself to wait a few moments before going to collect his prize, pretending to be interested in the other slaves that were being sold. But when he finally began to move, there was certainly a spring in his step as he made his way through the crowd, basking in the glances he drew from those he passed. They were of various calibre- seemingly equally as curious about him as dismayed and resentful of his successful bid. Even with their prying eyes, no one noticed as he discreetly snagged a money-purse. A quick glance inside revealed that he now had enough to pay for the slave outright, so with a quick slip of his hand he had combined both moneybags together, the slaver would be none-the-wiser.
Whilst the thief had not seen what had become of his rival, he had a pretty good idea as to whom, or what had been responsible for the man pulling out of the bidding so abruptly and in such a way. The fact that the mysterious bidder turned out to be general Al-Rashid was a welcome surprise, as the revelation that he’d managed to snatch a well-sought-after prize from such a wealthy man was extremely satisfying, as well as the stir the competitive duo had managed to create.
However, it was soon to become pretty clear that the general was not content with accepting such a defeat, as he was in fact waiting for the thief, and flanked by two guards, no less. For now, he watched from afar, and so the thief did not immediately see him, his attention focused instead on the slave. The slaver performed a low bow as the mysterious ‘woman’ approached, a greedy twinkle in his eye and an insincere smile on his lips as he straightened back up. “My elegant lady, may I just say how honoured…” Before the slaver could issue forwards which whatever sickly and empty compliment he had been about to pay, sight of the money pouch appearing from between the stranger’s robes and being provided by elegant, satin gloved hands, struck him happily silent. A quick glance inside revealed that he had not been short-changed, (in fact, he suspected much the opposite, and so was quick to close the pouch again and let it disappear into his pocket before the mysterious ‘woman’ realised her mistake). “It has been an absolute pleasure to do business with you!” he simpered, grasping the slave’s bound hands in one meaty fist, pulling him roughly towards the ‘woman’. “The Sjeverni is all yours... for however long you choose.” And with a soft, unkind chuckle, the slaver relinquished his hold on the slave, and the thief, despite never having used a Choke before, knew with certainty that he now had control over it. It was an unsettling feeling.
With another bow, quicker this time and less refined, the slaver left the woman to it, making his way hurriedly back to the stage to see what further fortune he would make on this, thus far, fortuitous day. Alone now, the thief regarded the slave again, and was struck by how much taller the man was than himself. The Sjeverni made an imposing figure, and if it wasn’t for the Choke, the thief would have reconsidered purchase of such a slave based on this. After all, it certainly didn’t seem to be a good idea to have a slave that was both taller and clearly physically stronger than oneself, if that slave was likely to be resentful towards his owner. Without thinking, the thief reached up, gently wiping away some of blood from the man’s chin with his gloved thumb. Then, with slightly less tenderness, he whipped out a dagger from some unseen place, taking the slave’s bound wrists and cutting through the rope in one neat, efficient motion. The shackles had seemed rendered pretty obsolete anyway with the presence of the Choke.
So, he had successfully saved a slave from a torturous fate.
…Now what?
Lest he be overheard by some passer-by, the thief continued the charade of being a woman for a little longer, speaking softly but firmly and with authority, “Do you have a name?” It seemed as good a question as any.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Oct 27, 2019 21:23:11 GMT
To any with a conscience, the listless gaze of the slave as he was being paid for was unnerving. The only thing that happened as ownership was transferred was that the gem on the collar flashed, and his gaze slowly turned to meet his new master’s even as he was dragged forward, meeting his owner’s gaze dully.
For obvious reasons, Lucian didn’t seem to notice the study, deathly patient in waiting for instructions. The tender touch to wipe away the blood earned no reaction, nor did the cutting of his bonds, save for his hands now able to hang loosely by his sides rather than be held in front. Had Lucian been in his right mind, the thief would have received a very different reaction.
The question went ignored, or at least seemed to. Being asked a name wasn’t such a difficult task, nor would it have been something he could resist even in his state. But that was the sum of it; as he continued to stare aimlessly at whatever was before him, utterly lacking in defiance, the power of the Choke grew clearer yet. Not only breaking his will, but also his existence, so it seemed. What did it matter what his name had been? There was no point in remembering anything but what the master ordered.
Not even the approach of the General and his two guards stirred anything in the slave, coming up behind the “woman” with no little amount of malice and authority. Evidently, the man had waited until ownership was transferred, clearly convinced that a woman would be far easier to intimidate into surrendering the Sjeverni than the slave trader.
The General sized up his adversary, able to see the dead eyes of the Sjeverni and thus count him out of any battle. The two guards moved out to half flank the slave and thief, hands on as yet sheathed weapons. “The slave is mine,” the General began, his tone confident. “Simply because we were interrupted before does not change that fact.”
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Post by Kelathi on Nov 2, 2019 0:05:33 GMT
Whilst the ‘woman’ did not seem surprised to find herself suddenly surrounded by the general’s men, the figure did let out a small, barely audible sigh of annoyance at their unwanted presence. Turning on the charm, the thief turned to face the imposing figure, confident that his face would still be shrouded in mystery courtesy of the shadows cast by the wide brim of his hood. “General, you must be mistaken.” ‘She’ began, mildly, almost sweetly. “I won this Sjeverni fairly. Perhaps you should stay and enjoy the rest of the bidding, some other slave might catch your eye.” And with that, the figure turned on their heel, intending to just brush past the nearest guard, speaking to the motionless slave as they did so. “Slave, co…” they had been about to utter ‘come’ when they had been cut short.
The General, in his anger at being rebuffed, had reached for the woman in order to stop her from walking away, grasping the hood and subsequently the wig also. He had already been annoyed, but his anger had truly flared at seeing the woman turn her back to him, so much so that he found himself losing his cool for a moment. A moment was all it took, and it had resulted in the true identity of the thief being revealed rather abruptly. The look of surprise on the General’s face as the wig fell away was soon replaced by one of fury, as his eyes met with the unmistakeable lavender gaze of the thief that had so terrorised not only himself but many of his esteemed compatriots. "Jay!" And not just any Jay, but the Jay, if those strange eyes were anything to go by. No sooner had the clearly hated word left the man's lips, his sword was drawn, the thief responding in kind, their blades glinting in the sun as they clashed. The guards were a little slower to react, but as they both swung towards the man, the thief pushed forwards, batting the General’s sword to the side and dropping into a roll, the two blades whistling overhead and meeting each other instead of hitting him. When he was back on his feet, he was faced with three angry men rather than being surrounded by them… and yet his odds did not look any more promising. Even so, it soon became clear that the thief was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and what he might lack in physical strength or stature he more than made up for with skill and agility. His movements led to one guard losing a sword (with a shriek and a spurt of blood to accompany the loss), and it was at that point the thief finally beseeched the as of yet unmoved slave for help, his voice now clearly masculine and only a little breathless.
“Don’t just stand there, help me!”
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Nov 2, 2019 1:42:23 GMT
The Sjeverni’s gaze never once shifted even as his new master was attacked, simply standing dumb while awaiting orders. It was this stillness in the face of a fight that had the guards on edge with the slave, at least to start, moving in on the thief as it became clear the slave would do nothing. He wasn’t a threat even to their backs.
At least, until he was ordered.
The guard who had been disarmed quickly drew a dagger and was beginning to push in again, but his position came into the path of the Sjeverni. While his eyes widened with life even as his limbs took action, his gaze remained dead and blank, only enhancing the effect of his own attack.
One hand roughly grabbed the soldier’s collar, dragging him in. He quickly batted the dagger to the side, and with what seemed to be far too few moves, he dropped the man with the sickening crunch of a snapping neck, an expert twist outweighing strength. Strength was what he showed he had next, taking on the guard who had heard the sound and turned to see. The man managed to slice his sword against the Sjeverni’s arm, not even earning a flinch due to the Choke.
With a kick to the gut that folded him over, he was bodily lifted off the ground and thrown several feet away, landing heavily. The initial blow had disarmed the guard, and Lucian picked up the weapon, clearly versed in its use as he moved towards the general, oblivious to his own master’s actions to defend himself.
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 7, 2020 22:58:20 GMT
What the thief lacked in strength, the slave seemed to make up for in droves. After ordering him to help, the Jay found him flooring the two guards in what had seemed merely a handful of strikes, and as he turned on the General, presumably to dispatch him just as brutally, the thief quickly spoke up. “Wait!” And with almost inhuman reflexes, the slave did exactly that, halting mid-step. The thief straightened, exhaled, and then allowed a much more amicable, if slightly arrogant, smile slip onto his lips. It was the smile of one whom knew he had the upper hand. “General, it has been a pleasure, as always. But I’m afraid we must now take our leave.” If looks could kill a man, the thief would already be strung up. “Fight me, you coward!” The General’s grating reply, unsheathing his sword with a quick flick of his wrist, unperturbed by the fallen guards at his feet. The thief conjured up a fake look of repentance, a fist to his heart as he sheathed his sword. “Adieu, my friend.” He announced mournfully, before turning his gaze towards the slave, completely confident in the man’s ability after seeing just a glimpse of what he could do. “Knock him out. But gently. He must remain alive.” And this, was just a little too much for the proud man, whom, with a strangled cry, raised his sword and charged at the lavender-eyed trickster.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 7, 2020 23:39:55 GMT
The General’s expression as he watched the Sjeverni approach him was one of resolute suspicion, as if the slave was proving something he had been suspecting. That strength, that efficient dispatch of his men… that face… could it be…?
Lucian’s sword was mid-swing when the order to stop was called, his body tensing to obey and stop the momentum. His breath was quickened from the fight thus far, but his eyes remained lifeless, watching the General dispassionately as he waited for orders. He was as unmoved by the General’s growl as he was by the thief’s arrogance. But then the order came, and he acted.
Once more the sword swung into action, a step neatly blocking the General from the thief. The blades sung loudly as they were slid across one another, twisting down and to the side. Given the order, what the slave did next seemed like disobeying.
With the swords to the side, his elbow jerked up and into the old man’s throat, quickly knocking him back to his knees as he gasped for air, hand grabbing the injured spot instinctively. He didn’t even see the slave take the two steps needed to bring the hilt of his sword against the back of his head, dropping him fully. For a few moments, he didn’t seem to be breathing.
Lucian watched coldly, as if frozen, tense. The collar’s owner had told him that the General must remain alive. If he had killed him…
Then, a raspy gasp revealed the man was still alive. Immediately, the slave turned and walked back to his master, once more standing where he had been told initially to wait.
If that was supposed to be gentle, then maybe the rumors of the savage Sjeverni soldiers were true.
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 8, 2020 0:03:21 GMT
The thief too, had held his breath to see if the General was still alive, and had only exhaled when he saw it was so, relief flooding steadily through him. The man was a pain in the arse, but with his powerful friends, he would do more harm dead than alive, as those seeking to avenge him would be all to eager to come after the thief. Stepping to the slave’s side, the man nudged the General in the side with the toe of his boot, as if to confirm that he was indeed unconscious, the older man remaining unmoved but clearly still breathing. “Is that what’s considered ‘gentle’ in your country?” The thief scolded lightly, clearly talking to the slave although his gaze was fixed on the crumpled man before him. “Remind me to never ask you for a back-rub.” He added breezily, turning and snatching the wig from the ground, readjusting it on his head before donning his hood again. He paused before the slave, regarding him quite openly for a moment, from head to toe. “Hm.” Was all he said, clearly wondering what to do with the slave now he had him. Well, first of all, they should get out of there before anyone arrived to see the mess they had made, what with the bodies littering the floor…
Dusting off his clothes from imaginary lint, the thief turned away. “Follow me.” He called over his shoulder.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 8, 2020 0:43:00 GMT
The scold was ineffective, as it was not a command. The quip about a back rub… while he didn’t exactly look confused, there was a pause, as if trying to understand the command. Was it a command?
Finally, an order was given. Lucian turned obediently, his longer stride easily catching up with his master’s. To follow, he stayed one step behind, blind to the blood dripping down his arm from where the sword had caught him before, as the blood on his lip and chin was ignored. His step matched the thief’s in pace and rhythm, with as expressionless a face as ever.
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