[The Slave Market] Wish upon a drop of blood(Drayton,Closed)

[Darian]

Timestamp: 70th of Summer
Location: The Slave Market
Pcs invited: Drayton
Thread Capacity: 3 Players
Thread Purpose: Scouting

A pulsing rhythm so similar to a heart beat pounded in his ears, his eyes blurring and focusing between every resounding beat. A pale face loomed before him, a hint of something on it, maybe scales? Then it was gone just as fast as it was there disappearing into the murk to be replaced by shadows flickering across his vision. Cries of pain and anguish echoed out around him. Then there was nothing.

He woke up with a jolt, his body shivering slightly with the remaining tremors the dream brought. Night after night it was the same dream, but still he could make nothing out in it except that woman whose name he knew not, or even what she exactly looked like. Perhaps it was just mental trauma from what had happened to him, and his body was just trying to make sense of it, but something deep inside of him told him it wasn't so. By someone's good graces he had survived when death had been almost certain, and for that reason he was thankful for whoever had took a shine to him that day, and even was grateful for the doctor's help. The thought of the man sent another shiver coursing up his spine, and he shuddered, blinking several times before becoming acclimated to the darkness of his room. No one in their right mind would go to the doctor, but of course when you where bleeding on the ground, hanging on to nothing but a thread, you really couldn't be picky and for that he was glad he got the help he needed in the doctor’s care and hadn't ended up a test subject.

The bittersweet thought brought his attention to his skin, which now after the fight was a mottled mess of patchy white scars that covered him from head to toe. They liked to peel quite a bit early on, but now they where settling to more permanent scar tissue, covering his body with a second thick layer of skin. His skin hadn't been the only thing to suffer though, and his patchy hair that clung to his scalp was a testament to that. A curious hand wandered up to a singed lock that draped over in front of his face and he tugged at it, only to see the tuft of hair come loose in his hand. He frowned and dropped it in disgust, not much favoring that his hair continued to come off of his head in such large quantities. It wasn't much of a vain thing, as it was something that annoyed him to no end to see his hair just drifting off his body at every turn. His eyes flickered over to the broad bladed dagger he kept underneath his pillow and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. There was always that.

* * * * *

Standing tall before the small table, with the flickering candle resting on top of it, Darian fidgeted with his leather armor, adjusting it to be most comfortable on his body. The roughly scarred skin no longer hurt like it first had when the burns where fresh but it still made the body conforming clothing just a little bit uncomfortable. From head to toe he was covered in some sort of clothing, his night leather armor taking care of his arms, chest, and legs, while leather boots, and gloves took care of his feet and hands. On his head he had improvised, wearing a broad brimmed hat to cover his newly shaved scalp, and a shredded cowl wrapped around his face to cover everything from the mid ridge of his nose down. The only patch of skin still visible on his body was his eyes, and the top of his nose and cheeks, his none existent eyebrows covered by the hat pulled so low that it hung just above his eyes.

On the table beside the candle sat the strange broach that the doctor couldn't explain to him other than that it was on him when he was found. The bright green emerald set in its center twinkled back at him in the meager light revealing nothing about the mystery that surrounded it. With a grunt, he snatched it up, tucking it underneath his leather cuirass, and fastening it there so that the cool metal, and gem pressed against the bare flesh of his upper chest. Now with that finished he tucked the lower portion of the leather chest piece into the tops of his greaves, making sure that it all looked continuous and supple before strapping on the longsword to his hip, and slinging his pack over his shoulder. It was time to try to find another inn, and another room to stay, this one had gotten old fast for him. With the briefest of nods to the room, he opened the door and departed.

* * * * *

In the shadows of an alley not too much unlike the one he had almost met his end in, he stood, his eyes carefully watching each of the passersby, looking earnestly for the woman he sought out. Drayton.. She wasn't likely to receive him warmly after their last encounter, or the gigantic gap in the time that they had last seen each other but he hoped that she would at least hear him out. He needed friends now most of all, and to do that it meant meeting old acquaintances, and possibly making new ones if he could ever find it within himself to approach them looking as he did. A slight trickle of blood dripped down his scalp, and over his temple which he promptly wiped away with the back of his hand. The small cuts he had raised with his inexperienced shaving still reopened from time to time but they only stung a little, and there were far more important things to concentrate on. Leaning out from the darkened opening, he strode out in the wake of a passing group of people keeping his head low lest he be noticed.

[Drayton]

Demri had his hand around her hip. Well, not her hip, Jaena’s hip. It wasn’t really unusual, the pair had been growing closer over the summer, ever since Toby had showed up this that back alley with a knife in his gut. He had been a boy of the neighborhood, and Eleanor and Demri had both helped haul his corpse off the street and up to the Dust Bed. She remembered the way the flies had settled on his purple lips as his stiff body hung in their clumsy arms, and the way Jaena had insisted that she just couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t, help carry him. Instead she followed behind the four teens who slung him in a stretched out sheet, sniffling into a yellowing bit of rag. Eleanor also remembered how later that night Dem had slung his lean arm over her shoulder, and patted her back. Never did that when Mark died, did he? It was true, the boy had never caressed Eleanor in that gentle way, preferring to clap his friend on the shoulder and tell her to “Buck up!” It was a far cry from the kiss he had given their roommate as she grieved that night. She remembered the way Jaena’s soft lips had pressed against his. They had shone a little in the candlelight, still wet with her tears. Her brown eyes had lingered on the calloused hand that was pressed snuggly against the curve of Jaena’s hip. But as she recalled the kiss they had exchanged that night, the night Eleanor had stopped being a friend and become the third wheel, the teen realized they were at it again. But this was not the sweet lip brush of before. No, now there was tongue. Wet, red tongues that caught the summer light briefly before plunging quickly down the throats of the couple. Eleanor didn’t look away quickly enough. “Hay, Drayton, stop being such a perv!” Jaena was chuckling as she leaned away from Demri. Her hands were linked around his neck, his around her waist, or perhaps a bit lower. With her soft, brown hair tumbling over her shoulders her back arched away from the boy as she scolded her friend playfully. Eleanor was not feeling playful. “Stop making out in the street and get a room then, preferably not mine…” she muttered to the pair that shared a shack with her. “What’d you say?” Demri began to ask, interrupting himself with another question. “Where you going Dray? I thought we were all going down to the market. Hey, come back! She had turned on the heel of her tattered boot just as Jaena had began laughing, but almost stopped. Dem wants me to stay atleast… But Eleanor could feel the dry sensation gathering in her eyes, and they started burning, begging tears to come, so she trotted away from the two. Damnit! she cursed inwardly, turning down a dark alley where tears would be harder to see. The fabric of her gloves was rough against bony cheeks as she scrubbed at them angrily. But the puffiness in her eyes couldn’t be wiped away. Petch, at least no one can see you. You’re alone. The thought was met with a wet snort as the teen tried to choke back a new wave of tears. That’s right, always alone. Cause who would want a skinny vagik like youself? You’re ugly, all dirty and freckly. Not enough meat on your bones to even be shaped like a woman. No one wants that… Bet you even Mark didn’t want it. He never kissed you like that. It wasn’t just the salty tears that had pooled in her eyes that wanted release. Eleanor could feel her lungs burning with anger between her self-pitying sniffs. She wasn’t entirely certain who she was mad at, her friends, herself, perhaps just everyone, but she wanted to let it out. “AH!” She screeched, unleashing her frustration on an old barrel. The wood creaked but the barrel hardly wobbled. Inside some fetid liquid sloshed about, anchoring the rickety thing against her blows. Eleanor’s toe hurt. It was hardly a satisfying outlet.

[Bob Barton]

"Clomp! Clomp! Clomp!' went an unlikely little man walking along slave market. He was not interested in the wares, so why was he there? Simple. It was because he had to remind himself why he would have to play safe in whatever he does. There was probably only one difference between Bob and the people on display there and one difference only. These people made mistakes. The simplest would just be the normal wrong place, wrong time scenario. The others may be as complicated as debts, getting caught, being hated among others. This was probably one of the many reasons why Bob lived his life a little more carefully nowadays.

And how was Bob going to learn from the mistakes of these unlucky people? He just went up and talked. Not a "Hey, what happened to you?" Those are questions best left to the level of inexperienced people like Darik. For Bob the most straightforward was going up to one of the merchants and try to fish out the questions. "Fine looking one you got here. How did you get it?" Some of the merchants preferred to keep things like this under wraps and for those Bob would have to push further like saying "Well, if I am going to buy this one I need to know why you know. I don't want to get robbed the next day or worse." Chuckling just like it was a joke. Bob would by all means to them is another would-be customer from the way he spoke to the what he did. These men who wouldn't want to turn away the opportunities to get some mizas would give some interesting answers. From how they caught a boy in the streets, to a thief who tried to mug the wrong guy and the wife who cheated on her husband.

But from some of those, the real professional slavers maybe? Those people were hard nuts to crack. They won't tell Bob anything. A normal person would probably be discouraged by then, but not Bob. If anything it only made him more curious and he was already a pretty bad loser to begin with. The more vague questions would have to do for this ones. Bob will take what he can for answers by asking things like "So what does this one do?" or "What can I use this one for?" No one could take the answers at face value though, those scum would say anything to get their money. They already sell slaves so lying wouldn't be beneath them. After getting the simple answers like fighting, cooking, riding with kelvics or bedwarming, Bob went to the slaves on display to "appraise" them. As a customer those men can't begrudge him for checking on his purchases. He would know whether the story checked out or not. Like someone who is good for fighting is well built or full of scars as far as Bob could see. As for bedwarming, Bob checked those even more closely. Just to see if he was right or not. No, no not anything else.

Bob wanted to ask the slaves themselves but probably not today. It would be too suspicious with him asking all these questions yet not buying anything. Already some of the merchants and their bodyguards were giving him the eye. After the eye always comes trouble so Bob kept his stop at each tent brief. Overall it was a boring day. The usual stories a person might hear about slaves. So Bob left the slave market to find something more interesting to do. Maybe Tall Johnny's. That was probably one of his favorite spots in Sunberth.

On his way he found a girl walking into a dark alley. Stupid girl, the dark alleys is where bad things happen in any city. And this was Sunberth. "Hey wait...isn't that the girl from..." a thought when he saw the girl from the incident with the Daggerhands back at Stumble Alley. Bob started walking closer to see what she was up to. Maybe the bad things have happened already. Bob quickened his pace when he heard the strange noises coming from the alley. Almost like a girl screaming.

[Darian]

All the faces just ran into each other mixing into an inconsistent blur that held no more interest to him than an insect would. He needed to find Dray, the broach pressed tight against his skin demanded it, and the cool metal crystallized his thoughts. There was much work yet to be done, so much that had been interrupted, changed even, but so to had his priorities changed. Life was so much more complicated now, it meant so much more than the dead in street he always had seemed to be running, and he wasn't even sure if he wanted revenge any more. It just seemed so hollow of a victory now, now that he knew there was much more to the world than his once narrow view. His purpose of existence seemed so much more significant now, but he needed to rebuild now all the bridges he had burned.

He kept his head low in the crowd he was following, sparing a glace to the sides to see if he could catch a glimpse of Drayton amongst the masses, perhaps trying to pull off another theft like the one on the day they met. She wouldn't appreciate his arrival of that he was sure, they hadn't left in the best of circumstances after all, but perhaps she had forgotten about all that, or it didn't offend her as much as she let on. It was a foolish hope but one that helped him push farther taking step after step through the streets. What if she wasn't even in Sunberth anymore, or alive for that matter? The thought occurred to him, and twisted a cold knot in his stomach as he gulped a breath of the humid air. He hadn't thought about that, and he wasn't quite sure what he would do if she wasn't here anymore. She was among his first associates, a person he felt he could reasonably trust in this city to an extent. If she was no longer here, then that would make this all futile, and this search worthless. A small part of him despaired, and he became instantly curious at the foreign emotion. Maybe I'm just over reacting.

Then he caught a glance of her, just before she disappeared into an alleyway. At last a glimpse of her that put away the memories and feelings that stirred inside of him and shifted his breath to a calmer state. Everything would be fine, she was still alive. He kept to the opposite end of the street for a moment, just to make sure that she wouldn't be coming right back out the alley and make him look the fool, and make up some lie that she knew he had been looking for her though he had told not a soul. Then his eyes caught something curious, a man making for the alley she had just entered, his eyes betraying open curiosity, or even interest. His muscles tensed, it looked like Drayton was about to get into some trouble, but he didn't exactly know if he wanted to get himself involved in such a situation so soon. Still despite his misgivings he found himself making for the alley slowly, watching his feet as he made his way through a throng of people reaching the entrance of the place between buildings that the man had gone through just a few chimes ago. Slowly he took a step in, and keeping to the side of the wall as close as he could he followed in, moving slow to see if he couldn't observe before deciding whether or not to step in. After all, he and Drayton didn't know each other that well.