In search of a Lady (open)

[Jerro]

He got to the first tent, a ratty looking, sad display of a tent. It looked to be entirely made up of different patches. Regardless of this, Jerro walked through the opening. Inside the slaves didn't look to be in much better condition than the tent. They were dirty, in rags, and obviously malnourished. Jerro's disgust was plain on his face as he walked up to the man who was seemingly in charge. Any money he made was obviously put into taking care of himself rather than his business. He was fat, well dressed and some cheap jewelry could be seen on him, as rings and a gaudy amulet.

Upon seeing Jerro, the slaver immediately perked up and began to sell to him. "Greetings, my friend, and thank you for selecting my humble shop." He said in a thick accent. "I can promise you that while my slaves might not look all that impressive, they are of the best quality, certainly better than most you'll see around this end of the market."

Jerro looked at the slaves, then back to the man. "So while you profit from selling off these men and women, you don't even have the nerve to treat the ones still in your possession to a decent meal, enough so that at least you cannot see their ribs? Never mind, that's not why I'm here. Did you sell a Konti recently?"

Flabbergasted, the man looked to his slaves, then back to Jerro. "Well, you see times are hard and no one will buy my slaves. Why should I have to suffer if they will not sell? But to answer your question, I have not. That is not something that I'm likely to come into any time soon, your in the wrong part for that kind of merchandise." He looked Jerro over and continued. "But that would probably be out of your price range anyway my friend. Perhaps I could interest you in setting your sights a little lower. Give one of these slaves a good home, good food, and they will do anything you want them to. And I do mean anything." He chuckled, nudging Jerro with his elbow.

Jerro dematerialized long enough to allow the elbow to travel through him. The man quickly pulled back his arm and jumped back with a look of horror upon his face. "I think we're done here then." Jerro turned around and walked back out of the tent.

The slaver, having regained his courage, leaned out of the tent and yelled after him, "and never come back, we do not appreciate your kind around here!"

Jerro quickly found Flynn and shook his head. "No help there. any luck out here?"

[Flynn Maidrus]

Mood soured by the rude man, Flynn didn’t feel like talking to anyone, much less those barbaric slavers. As Jerro went off to whatever he was doing— oh, dear Dira, by the look on his face he was going to do something stupid— Flynn tried to quiet her mind. Flynn breathed out, disturbing her translucent, white Soulmist that twisted around her. She let her mind quiet down and relaxed as she saw her Soulmist drift about, lazier and lazier. She would try one more time, fully immerse herself in the world of webs that she had only glanced at earlier. Her vision blurred before she saw a saturated world, full of pulsing lines criss-crossing the dirt. It seemed haunted, and knowing that some people had tied themselves here made it twofold. In the web world she stepped forward, and a scene flashed before her eyes. “No!” a Kelvic shrieked, shivering with tears. Words stuck in his throat and he was only vaguely aware that he was convulsing, shaking on the dirt ground. The look on his face was tear-stained, wretched, and ugly. It wasn’t the look of a dead man like so many other slaves, it was impassioned and fighting miserably. “You-... you can’t sell me! I,” the Kelvic sounded, impossibly, more choked than before, “I already have a master! I know- I know she wouldn’t sell me! She’s poor, but she wouldn’t—” The slaver sighed. He was 23 years old with a dream of becoming a famous bard that dated ten years back. His voice was slick and illustrious for calming down the women-folk, and this polished voice was the only proof of his goal that died three years ago. The world had crashed down on him all at once, having only seen the blunt side of Mizahar’s evil, but he had survived. And now, he was making money being a slaver. Nothing mattered anymore. “Babe, if you don’t shut up, you’ll seem mentally ineligible to the buyers and then I’ll have to kill you. Your master? Yeah, she sold you. You’re a bonded Kelvic, so utterly trusting. It was easy for her.” The man crouched and swept the dirtied hair from the Kelvic’s face, cleaned earlier that day. At that time, the Kelvic— his name was Dakner, wasn’t it?—had seemed so calm, dead, biding his time, like he didn’t expect actually to be sold. The reality was dawning on him now. “Kil m—” Dakner sobbed, but his body stilled, as he saw something on the man’s face he couldn’t quite comprehend, but his Kelvic subconscious did. The slaver’s face— “No help there. Any luck out here?” The scene faded out, trickling from her fingers. Flynn’s hand twitched, mind and Soulmist swirling by what she had just seen transpire. She felt the residual grief in her chest, eyes glimmering, throat tightened and lungs constricted. The Kelvic’s emotions, then. How long ago was this— she just had to to tap into it again. Had a Kelvic, of all people, recorded this event? Did it, however unlikely, have a happy ending? The slaver had no motivations— had this been a push? Flynn reached out to entwine with the web again and snapped back, realizing that it was too dangerous. Being drawn into the webs was, as Rom reminded her when she was alive, intoxicating. Especially for someone like her. This world was too much like a lucid dream, lilting and bright. She closed her eyes, felt herself dissipate back into her ghost form. She felt this world— the real world— cling to her skin, stifling her, a leap from the grace and freedom of the webs. The real world was dead compared to the webs. Flynn allowed herself a moment before speaking. “Tried Webbing again. Didn’t want to talk to the stupid slavers, didn’t find anything but the memories of a couple Konti, but it was ages ago,” a lie, a product from Flynn’s guilt at being too immersed, something to show that she actually was looking, “M’fine if you’re going to ask.” Her breath hitched when she spotted the slaver, Krade?, on the peripheral of her vision, eyes darker than ever. She turned her body towards him, and saw Dakner beside him, happiness beaming. It had a happy ending after all. But what was Krade doing here, perpetuating slavery? Flynn saw him duck his head to whisper something into Dakner’s ear, grinning ear-to-ear though it was obvious how hard he was trying not to. She turned back to Jerro, “Perhaps I might find something, I’ve found some people I know here.”