Quest 50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Check this thread to see what's happening on the 50th of this season.

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This lazy agricultural settlement rests on the swampy shores of the Middle Suvan at the delta of The Kenash River. The River's slow moving bayou waters have bred a different sort of people - rugged, cultured, and somewhat violent. Sprawling plantations of tobacco and cotton grow on the outskirts of the swamp in the rich Cyphrus soils, while the city itself curls around the bayou and spawns decadence and sins of all sorts. Life is slower in Kenash, but the lack of pace is made up for in the excesses of food and flesh in a city where drinking, debauchery, gambling, slavery, and overbearing plantation families dominate the landscape.

Moderator: Gossamer

50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Cocoon on March 15th, 2016, 2:31 pm

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“There speaks a voice from ages past, long before the rise of stars, which tells us secrets of lives that passed. In the chaos that spread throughout the world, men rose from their dark holes. Scarred and scared, they couldn’t cope with the chaos felt. The world had changed from night to day, centuries spent in deep dark caves, and all they knew was grief and pain.

Let me tell you the story, brothers and sisters in chains, of what could very well be the origin of Kenash itself. You see, Kenash was not always a large city as it is today. There weren’t always fields for us to work on, nor there were whips cracking behind us. This tale, dear family of mine, is long before these walls were raised. Perhaps we can learn something out of it, or ponder about it for days, or we can simply use it to pass the times now that the sun above our heads scorches our flesh. Listen , workers and servants, for this may perhaps explain to you how our masters were born.

There speaks a tale, perhaps as ancient as this very swamp that is based around a small village. Perhaps that village was Kenash in its surely humble origins, or perhaps it is a place that no longer exists due to the story I’m about to tell you. The thing is, everyone within that place lived a simple life. There were no chains back then, or at least not wrapped around people. It was a modest place kept alive by the hard work of each and every individual that lived between them. There was no beauty nor there any refinement, for both the houses and the streets were made of mud. The townsfolk dressed simply, most of the times wrapped in rags like us, and they reeked perhaps even worse than us! They worked really hard, day after day praying to the Gods for rain to fall, for crops to grow, for hunger to subside. Many died waiting for an answer, as food was scarce and the harvests were poor. Despite all the suffering, they never turned their backs on each other, and decided to remain together forever no matter how hard life was. Children wept as their stomachs growled, mothers abandoned their newborns in the plains for they could not feed them, and fathers came home to curl in their beds and hope for a miracle.

This one day, however, that miracle came through the doors of the village. A man, as handsome as the stars, as wise as the earth itself presented himself in the middle of the night when the inhabitants woke. This man, you see, was someone special. Unlike them, he had something they had never known. It wasn’t flour, nor was it water. It was a smile! A smile, indeed, was the only thing the village had never known, for it represented a sentiment unbeknownst to the townsfolk. Shocked by that simple gesture, they stared for two days straight. It was in the third night that one of the farmers approached the man, falling to his knees and begging and weeping to the man to teach him how to do that, how to smile and how to take all the pain away. The man, smiling still, kneeled before the man and whispered in his ear. And just like that, the farmer smiled with his yellow teeth, and was forever happy. The stranger left, but the farmer never lost his smile.

Nobody knew what the man had whispered to him, and he did not share the secret to happiness. When he worked, he smiled. When his family starved, he smiled. Nobody knew, indeed, what the secret of happiness was. That was until the mysterious stranger returned three nights later, bearing a basket full of bread and a bucket full of water. The townsfolk had never seen food in such abundance, immediately falling to their knees and begging to the man, to which he fed them and satiated their thirst. A few of the villagers approached him, and asked him for the secret. They too were blessed with smiles by the time the mysterious man, and they too were quiet as to what the secret was. Nobody spoke and nobody shared that secret, being forever between them and the traveling man.

The town slowly began splitting in two, one half being the one bearing smiles, and the other bearing pain. It was obvious that the secret of the smile would not be revealed until they too pleaded to the mysterious man, and the sad souls of those humble people knew it. But the problems only grew, you see, as one day a man was found dead. It was one of the unhappy ones, one of those who knew not how to smile. Tortured beyond imagination, nobody but those unhappy souls seemed to care, as those who smiled did not lose their wide grins. Each day the stranger returned, more of the unhappy joined the happy, and more victims appeared. The distrust grew within the humble village - eventually splitting the town in two by building a wall in the middle. The unhappy, whom were still the majority, began feeling threatened by those smiles, and their fear increased as the tortured bodies of their unhappy neighbors kept appearing in the mud. After a dozen bodies found, the unhappy no longer allowed the mysterious man near their town – they threw mud at him, hoping to dissuade him from ever coming again. Before leaving their lives forever, the man returned one last time, this time bringing a small item with him. Nobody knew what the item was, and it was tossed somewhere in the mud to never be found again. The man said the item would be the curse of the unhappy, swearing that they would never find joy in life and that there would be no happiness for them for all eternity.

So disturbed they were by this curse that befell on them, the unhappy were not able to sleep no matter how tired they were. They worked hard, trying to bring life to the dead soil, starving themselves from the lack of crops, yet their eyes could not close in the dark nights. Instead of sleeping through the night, they instead watched outside their little windows, watching towards the wall that separated their village in two. They wondered how life was on the other side, what kind of dreams they were missing on, what joy they could be experiencing. The curiosity grew, and one night they all peeked over the mud wall, wondering how their forgotten neighbors lived.

But they did not find any joy or any peace once they saw the other side of the village, the one they had cut off from their lives due to their envy. They only found the dozens of yellow smiles shining in the darkness, their wide grins meeting the eye of every unhappy that had dared look on the other side. Those grins watched, gleaming in the night with a light so sinister even Rhysol would have feared. There was no joy or happiness in their eyes, as they had no eyes. They were gouged, removed by their own fingers as instead they seemed possessed with a strange kind of need. Before even a gasp escaped the unhappy, the grinning villagers began climbing the mud walls, their intentions as dark as the night itself. In a matter of weeks, the village had turned from a united community that only wished peace to a split village that lusted for blood. The unhappy quickly retreated to their homes, taking their tools and defending their humble houses and their hungry families. They did not surrender even after all the difficulties in life.

And so they fought the unhappy driving off the yellow grins of their previous neighbors with their rusty tools. The more they fought those supposedly happy, the more they realized their smile was nothing but a lie – they suffered, perhaps even more than them. The fight was brutal and gruesome, full of tears by the unhappy and terrifying cackles by the smiling. So intense it was, in fact, that once it was all over, the village itself crumbled itself over the bodies. All the mud houses, the mud walls, and the mud beds collapsed and buried every man, woman and child that had died in that now cursed place. Only a handful survived, a handful of those unhappy that were now homeless and in grief. Their whole life had crumbled to the ground, all because a few saw bread and water and immediately surrendered. Those five survivors gathered in a group and hugged, kissing each other farewell for they would all take different directions. It was only then, while the tears of grief and pain fell down their cheeks, that they found joy – for true happiness was family. And so they parted ways, forever forgetting where their village once laid, for they would never return.

You see, brothers, that this tale holds a lesson for us all. We may be the ones in chains, and the ones in pain. We may bear infinite scars in our bodies, and we may never find our way home. We are the unhappy, but we are also the ones who can truly feel happiness. Do not be fooled by our masters, whom grin and smile as they raise their head. They are in pain, and once the night falls, it will be us the ones to stand last. Remember than a true tear is a bigger sign of happiness than a fake smile will ever be.


So keep working, and keep being unhappy, for once the man bearing gifts arrives, we’ll know we have our family chained to us and that his gift is nothing but a lie."



-Kenashian Folk Tale.
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Cocoon
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Office

50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Cocoon on March 15th, 2016, 2:31 pm

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50th Spring, 516 AV


Perhaps for the keen eye this wouldn’t have been a surprise. There were signs all over the place, for everything in Kenash was public information. The gossiping and the rumors were enough to completely know a person, an event, a thought. One could find out about anyone that roamed the streets of the swamp city, about what they like to eat, about their taste in companions and every last recipe they may have known in their life. There was no privacy in Kenash, especially for those that were aware of that and made an effort to actually maintain it. A chat, a smile, a gesture was all that was needed to pick someone’s brain, to infiltrate their minds and dig out whatever information was useful. This was the bread and butter of Kenash, a city so divided by differences that distrust and prejudice was present in every last soul that had been cursed with a life in the hub.

Some may recall a ship in the docks, the security details that escorted wagons through the treacherous swamps as they headed to the mansions of the Dynasties. Others may have noticed businessmen vanishing only to return a fortnight later, exhausted yet with eyes wide open because of what they saw. Slaves that had earned themselves a place behind their master disappeared even if their health was fine, and never to return no matter how much time drug the city into the spring season. These were natural occurrences in Kenash, after all. Everyone had their place, their spot in the gigantic mechanism that was Kenash’ economy, their job in the lucrative industry of decadence. Few were allowed to linger about without a task, for the city had not enough space for everyone. Those who contributed their part stayed until their use ended, and once they were no longer useful they were replaced with haste. It is a beautiful system, in truth, despite the cogs being made with bones and lubricated with blood. There was no fairness in this world, after all.

On the morning of the 50th day of Spring 516, so many seasons after the world was torn by Ivak’s blind fury, the bloody mechanism that powered Kenash was revealed for an unlucky group of individuals. They ranged from all sorts of origins, belonged to different social classes and lived very different lives. However, each and every last one of them was carefully selected – either by Lhex or by Ovek - for an undisclosed task, an objective that the puppeteer slowly but successfully is getting closer to. A light rain washed over the buildings of the wondrous city, common soundtrack for a city as damp as Kenash that, nonetheless, still rested as the day had yet to begin. Syna’s rays had made their way into the horizon, gently letting some of its heat serve to announce the coming of yet another day of hard work. The Magistrate’s agents were on the move, dozens of the Magistrate’s employees spreading through the city, carrying out the orders given to them. Their first objective were the Freeborns, leeches that had entered their city in attempts of draining Kenash’ glory at first, yet slowly starting to contribute to the common and greater good of the city itself.



Haeli and Roric




Sephen Radacke and his brother Tattaricus, two experienced masons in the city of Kenash, made their way to the first item in their list. Dressed in their finest clothing, the rare and valuable indigo color contrasting greatly against the plain brown colors of the swamp and buildings. They were fine men of fine tastes, and despite being fifty years in the city of Kenash, still held some of that contempt against Freeborns. It was natural, of course. A slave followed behind them, a young woman withered by the abuse, stark naked in the rain and shivering so intensely one would wonder how much would she last. In each hand she held an leather umbrella dyed with the indigo color of the Radacke, covering each brother with each umbrella as she was left at the mercy of the rain. The woman closed the umbrellas now, as both brothers made way for the female’s thin frame. She, with her frail fist, would be the one to bang on the door, as no Dynast would be shamed with doing such deplorable task.

Only when the door was opened she would step back and return to her previous task, the two brothers watching whomever opened the door with disdain, inspecting the shop without any intention of stepping inside. “Magistrate Mica Radacke has a message for…” began Sephen, opening a scroll made with the finest paper they imported from Black Rock, reading the name out loud as his uninterested eyes came up. “…Haeli.” The slave behind the duo sneezed, both men looking back at the interruption and taking mental notes of her inappropriate behavior. She wouldn’t last long with that attitude. Nonetheless, both men turned their attention forward as Sephen began the lecture of the message itself, his brother simply staring at the receiver of the message.

“Haeli, Freeborn of Kenash, Owner of Fire Island Herbs and Essences. Magistrate Mica Radacke, the Twelve Dynasties of Kenash, and the City of Kenash request your cooperation and your services for the betterment of Kenash’ situation on this day, the fiftieth of spring of the year five hundred and sixteen after the Valterrian . In seven days’ time, you are to be transported to an undisclosed location and be employed directly under the Magistrate for a brief period of time. Your skills in herbalism and the nature of your business have been noted, and you have been carefully selected to be of use for the Magistrate of the City of Kenash. You are to receive pay to compensate any loses produced by your absence, and your cooperation will be dully noted.

If you choose to not cooperate, however, the Magistrate will treat such response as ungrateful and the consequences for you and your business will be severe, ranging from one, several if not all of the following actions: increase of taxes, revoking of business license, partial or total foreclosure of property, revoking of Freeborn status with the domain of Kenash and a possible foreclosure of personal freedom for an unspecified amount of time. The Magistrate withholds all rights regarding the administration to any of these possible consequences, and it is to the Magistrate’s discretion to judge your actions.“


Sephen would lift his eyes only briefly, the disinterest in his features being complete even if he was reading a fancy written extortion letter. Sighing, he’d look back down at the scroll and continue the read.

“The City records show that you currently own one slave. Roric, male wolf Kelvic, purchased from Kenash’ Auction Hall on the twelve of fall in the year five hundred and thirteen after the Valterrian, for the sum of one thousand golden Mizas. Following the Magistrate’s Rules and Regulations, no slaves are allowed to be left alone without immediate tutoring from an owner or relative. The Magistrate understands the struggle of leaving such expensive and dependable creature behind, and kindly offers the opportunity to bring said property along with yourself should you choose to accept this temporary employment. Said possession will be given a task and any expenses to cover its housing, diet and any medical assistance that it may present will be paid by the Magistrate’s Office itself.

Shall you choose to not bring it along, however, the creature will be directly interfering with the regulation policy regarding sentient property, and thus the Magistrate reserves all rights of foreclosure of said property for the period of time you, his owner, will be away. The Kelvic shall be auctioned to the highest bidder in an extraordinary auction, which could lead to the Kelvic’s branding – thus ending any sort of opportunity of recovery of said property. The amount of golden mizas paid for him will be transferred to you in its totality, no more than six hundred golden mizas from which the expenses of the Auction and any other expense needed for a humane and authorized sell will be deducted from that sum.

If you choose to accept this opportunity to lend your skills in aid of the Magistrate’s Office, the Twelve Dynasties, and the City of Kenash, please present yourself seven days from now, the fifty seventh of spring, before the Traveler’s Complex located in the West Bank of the City of Kenash, at the 18th Bell. Punctuality is required. The Magistrate also reminds you that this message and invitation is confidential and private – the partial or total disclosure of this invitation’s contents will result in an instant charge of betrayal against the Magistrate’s Office, the Twelve Dynasties and the City of Kenash, and the consequences will be severe.

Signed,
Magistrate Mica Radacke, representative of the Twelve Dynasties and the City of Kenash, on this day, the fiftieth of spring of the year five hundred and sixteen after the Valterrian.”




Now that the extensive read was over, Sephen handed over the scroll for the individuals in the household, and without any sort of closure or explanation, turned around along with his brother and his property and left in the morning rain. Just like that, the individuals in the shop were left alone to decide, although there was obviously only one choice. The corrupt government had made sure of that.



Konrad




For those whom didn’t have a business in Kenash, like Konrad, the visit was not as pleasant. Three men stood before the door to his room in the Traveler’s Complex, two of them heavily armed with golden armors and ornate weapons, once again making sure their Dynast status was easily known for insignificant pests like Konrad. The man in the middle, a balding short man from the Lynint Dynasty clicked his fingers, the tall men behind him knocking on the door with force. They would not stop until the door was open, and whenever that happened their blades would point towards Konrad. “Halt!” Said the man in the middle, looking up at the pest that had invaded his beautiful city. It was only appropriate for the Lynint Dynasty to be the one approaching this Freeborn, for their specialty was dealing with pests such as rats and other undesirable animals. “Konrad Venger, you are currently under investigation for a possible felony against the wellbeing of the City of Kenash. The Magistrate’s Office has gathered evidence that you, along with a great number of livestock providers hailing from Sunberth, have ignored the Laws of Kenash and caused diverse incidents that cannot, and will not, be ignored by the Magistrate’s Office, the Twelve Dynasties, and the City of Kenash.”

The short and slightly obese Dynast would now unroll a scroll, and begin reading its contents with haste – trying desperately to be over with this meeting as his nostrils were too worthy to be exposed to the smell of a Freeborn. Taking a hold of a handkerchief, he’d cover his nose as the scroll dangled from his hand, and began reading.


“You are hereby formally accused of being involved or having assisted in any way of one, several if not all of the following charges: theft, sexual assault, physical and psychological torture, pollution of the Kenash River, destruction of private property, arson and murder. Rest assured the Magistrate’s Office will investigate these charges thoroughly until the culprit or culprits are found. Having assisted or taken part of any of the previously listed activities will result in an immediate incarceration, a foreclosure of any property and a foreclosure of personal freedom. After a series of surgeries, in which your speech and reproduction organs will be removed, you will face public humiliation before the Kenashian Public in which physical pain will be inflicted until your death. Your remains will be processed and stored for later use in assisting the Dynasty crops to grow, and compensate part, if not all, of the damage your actions may or may not have caused. The investigation will be closed in exactly ten days, in which any suspects not proven innocent will be treated as guilty and will be judged accordingly. Until then, you are to remain in custody of the Dynasties and given manual labor in further attempts of

However,

The Magistrate’s Office is quite aware of your involvement in the recent livestock addition you’ve contributed to bring into Kenash territory, and upon intensive debate with various advisors, a deal was made that can guarantee your absolution from any, if not all, of the previously enumerated charges. Due to the special circumstances of this deal, you are to give an answer immediately as otherwise you’ll be escorted to the Auction Hall, stripped of your belongings, and given manual labor. The deal in question involves your various skills of trade, and would mean a temporary employment directly under the Magistrate’s Office supervision. Your efforts will be duly noted and will serve to clear your name and/or reputation in the eyes of the Magistrate’s Office, the Twelve Dynasties and the City of Kenash.

If you are to accept this deal, in which you’ll have to sign on the bottom of this document, you will be immediately branded as innocent and be let go without further incidents. However, you are to present yourself seven days from this day before your current residence in the Traveler’s Complex on the 18th Bell. If by the fifty seventh of spring in the year of five hundred and sixteen after the Valterrian, at the 18th Bell you are not present and accounted for, your innocence will be nullified and you would immediately branded as a traitor to the Magistrate’s Office, the Twelve Dynasties and the City of Kenash, and you shall be prosecuted and given no mercy whatsoever.

The partial or total disclosure of this deal to relatives or acquaintances will nullify all of the proposed solutions to your current situation, and you’ll be prosecuted accordingly.

Signed,
Magistrate Mica Radacke, the Twelve Dynasties and the City of Kenash. “



Lifting his eyes from the document, one of the armed men would holster his weapon and instead present ink and feather towards Konrad, while the short man turned the scroll around and tapped the bottom of the paper. “Sign here if you agree, Mister Konrad Venger.”



Valerius




The Ravokian would find two men before his newly opened office, standing idly as they murmured between them. They weren’t dressed in anything too fancy, for standing in the rain did not quite allow for flashy garments. Their own lineage was nothing precious, being nothing but bastard sons of some of the nobility of Kenash that had managed to gain employment in attempts of finding a Dynast woman and marring into their neglected social class. They pointed up and down the building, gesturing between themselves as they glared again and again at the newly erected building. Their voices were hushed, whispering in hopes of their words not being shared with an undesired third party. It would be only until Valerius came to face them that they would continue their silent ploy, greeting him with their fake smiles. “Good morning. You must be Valerius Nitrozian, correct? Very nice to meet you. I am Pappador and this here is my college Gruopta. We’re from the Magistrate, and unfortunately we have bad news for you.” Pappador offered a coy smile, as he pointed towards the building in question.

“This building… It’s going to be demolished because you never got your license. Before you say anything, let us explain it all to you and then we’ll answer any questions you may have. You see, you picked your spot and you raised this office. It’s in the records, yes. You went to the Dynasty that owned this terrain, and went through all the process of appointments and trouble to get the Magistrate’s approval on the construction on this site. That is very true, yes. And see, the weird thing is that your license is simply gone. Usually, the Magistrate’s Office takes care of it the moment you got your approval, yet now that the accounting of the week is being done, the Magistrate’s Office never found your license. Without your license, this building is illegal, and you are a felon. Now, it could be easy for you to point fingers and blame the Magistrate’s Office for not being cautious with your paperwork, but the whole city knows the Magistrate never loses a thing. I’ve been there, trust me, and we’ve found the records of building from a hundred years back, all in their place and their order. Of course, those were in the archives.”

Pappador ceased his words, and instead Gruopta took his turn.

“That is true. It is a shame that something like this would happen, especially because of what’s going to happen to you. Land in the city is very, very expensive. Just coming along and setting a bunch of stones on it doesn’t make it yours. If after the accounting is finished your license is not found, then your this office of yours will be demolished, because you’re basically stealing land from the Dynasties. Not only that, but you’ll be charged with theft and improper construction, which is much worse than it sounds. You’re a Freeborn, right? Well, in ten days you could very well be not. Furthermore, you’ll have to pay for the demolition itself and, trust me when I say this, it is very expensive. It is actually cheaper to raise a mansion in the middle of the city than to demolish it. You could be looking at a debt of ten to fifteen thousand mizas, and you’ve got to pay that before the actual demolition. That includes the manual labor, the clean-up, the transport, the mountain of paperwork that has to be done…

You know what the worst of it all is? That you’re very unlikely to have even half of that money. They’ll take away that Freeborn status of yours and put you on the end of a chain to work for the rest of your life. They’ll make you work until you either die of age or until you lose your value. Yeah… You may end up in the Radacke dungeon or in the swamps, holding on to the trunk of a tree while your owner ram---“


Pappador’s hand came forward, harshly smacking his friend on the chest to put a stop to his words. They both looked at each other, Pappador’s mastery of the acting skills being present as he faked concern for the Ravokian before them. Gruopta did not speak again, instead looking away as Pappador took the conversation.

Enough of that. Listen, what my friend here says may be true, but that doesn’t mean we like it, alright? In all honesty, we’ve seen your paperwork and it was all very clear – not the work of a newbie in this, you know? We’ve been talking, and there might be a way of helping you get a license. We can help you ‘find’ it, you know what I mean? However, we need to make sure you’re on our side. We need to know you can keep your word about this little secret of ours. And so we’ve got a deal for you.

Seven days from now, a small group is gathering before the Traveler’s Complex in the West Bank. Be there at the eighteenth bell. They’ll send you to work outside the city for a couple of days, but it won’t be anything difficult. They may pay you, and even get you in good graces with the Magistrate. That’s your only option now, really. They won’t let you board a ship, and even if you got out of Kenash… They’d find you. They always do. Go where we told you, be punctual, and we’ll ‘get’ your license for you. My sister was in the same situation as you were, if I’m being honest. She didn’t have anyone to help her, and I haven’t seen her in twelve years.”

Pappador, master in the art of acting, let the tears escape his eyes as he faked trying to repress them, Gruopta patting and rubbing his back in a rather intimate way. Pappador turned to Gruopta and buried his face in the man’s chest, the latter being his beacon of hope as he lightly swayed with him. Looking up, Gruopta spoke the final words. “Be there. We’ll take care of the license and put in a good word for you before the Magistrate’s Office.” Even the second individual’s eyes turned teary, starting their miserable procession down the street, under the rain, until they were far enough to drop the act. There was no missing license, but Valerius wouldn’t know that. He had been tricked to believe his freedom was in danger and that his life was about to over, and he was only presented one exit of this living nightmare.



Verena Lorak




Verena had a good reputation in Kenash, and it wasn’t only because of her lineage. Dynasts were many, and so are doctors, yet the Rak’keli marked had skill and thus her prestige was slowly becoming bigger and bigger. Unlike the others, she wouldn’t be ambushed in the street nor coming out of her bed. Upon opening her shop this day and with the usual arrival of customers, a couple of bells would pass before she got her own visit by the Magistrate’s employees. Sephen and Gruopta were there, the two Radacke that had been forced to wake up early today and follow the list given to them. As they approached Verena’s shop, however, they did so without the slave that carried their indigo umbrellas, be it because they wished to present themselves more friendly, or simply because the slave had been disposed of. The possibilities were many, yet the answers were null as, most times, it never was in this part of the world.

The two men entered the business and directly headed to the Verena’s Office, where they would wait until Bellara, Verena’s slave and assistant, notified the Lorak Dynast of their arrival. Despite being unannounced, they gladly took a seat before her desk, and waited patiently and in silence. Whenever Verena came, the two men would raise and introduce themselves.

“Greetings, Miss Lorak. I am Sephen Radacke, and this is Gruopta Radacke. We’re sorry to come in without an appointment, but this matter comes straight from the Magistrate. We are to speak with you in the name of the Magistrate. If you would please take a seat, we can begin immediately.” Both men returned to their seats, with their correct postures, straight backs and posh grace most Dynast had been instructed to display.

“Let us cut to the chase so we don’t take much of your time.” Began Sephen, the talker from the duo. “The Magistrate needs your services. Your skill and reputation in Kenash as a medicine woman are very notorious, especially for the Magistrate. As you may know, Magistrate Mica Radacke is in charge of the office for a second season in a row, which is indeed unusual, yet necessary given what happened last season. Those swamp savages made sure we lived with fear, and claimed many lives of our brethren. Now that our Magistrate has stepped up and returned peace upon this city of ours, we have to think about expansion – mostly to cover any loses from the chaotic previous season. Early in the season, the Twelve Dynasties got their chance. If you recall, a certain ship came into town carrying insane amounts of mizas, which helped the heads of each house to recover from the winter loses.

You may also remember a certain man into the Lorak Estate, a visitor if you would call him that, which has slowly earned the hearts of most Dynasts worth knowing in Kenash. That man, Miss Lorak, is a very important man that has a very lucrative project in his hands. While we cannot share what the project is about for the moment, we can tell you that all Twelve Dynasties, including the Lorak, have agreed to take part of it. We are here to ask you, and only you, to join the project and represent your family’s interests. We’ve spoken to Lorana, your older half-sister, and head of the Lorak Dynasty. In fact, it is she the one that suggested you for this task. Obviously, the Magistrate couldn’t help itself, and thus here we are. We ask you a few days of your time, in which you will work directly for the Magistrate’s Office and the Twelve Dynasties, on your specialty which is Medicine. You, Miss Lorak, would represent and carry out the Lorak Dynasty’s duties.

In case you are interested, please present yourself before the Traveler’s Complex in the West Bank, seven days from now, at the 18th bell. This is a standing offer, and you are free to accept the honor that it is, or decline it for whatever reasons you see fit. However, this offer is confidential, and no word should be shared about this to anyone. You will be paid generously for your services, of course. Take into account that you will be representing the Lorak, your family, and thus their reputation rests on your hands. Refusing this offer may… stir, some unpleasant rumors. You know how dangerous gossiping is around here. A rumor regarding the Lorak and those Rujaro is likely to cause much trouble, not only for you but mostly for your sister Lorana. We don’t want that to happen, not at all, which is why accepting this opportunity is so important. We must remain together and we must cooperate, bury old mistakes behind us so the Twelve Dynasties can maintain peace in Kenash.

That is all, Miss Lorak. We’ll be going now so that we don’t waste any more of your precious time. We know you may have some questions, yet rest assured that they will be answered seven days from now.”

And so they stood up and said their farewells, leaving with the same haste with which they came.



Tanith




The Sitai Dynast was not visited in her business, but instead she was intercepted in the Sitai State. An ornate carriage was waiting before the door, exclusively for the woman, a driver patiently waiting for her and greeting her with a smile whenever she appeared. “Greetings, Miss Tanith. The Magistrate Mica Radacke kindly invites you to share his carriage on the way to the city, my lady. He is waiting for you inside.” The driver opened the door, Mica Radacke leaning forward and peeking out of the borders of the wooden carriage, greeting the female with a wide smile. “I thought we could share the journey to the city, you and I Miss Tanith. I also have something to propose to you, so I’d be delighted if you could join me.” Before she could even think, the driver had offered his hand to assist the fine Dynast to climb the wooden step and enter the carriage. She was being pressured, of course, and rejecting the offer would be insulting. It was the Magistrate, after all. The most powerful man for the season.

Inside, the luxury was obvious. Silks and indigo colors shined everywhere, a rich assortment of pastry and exotic fruits waiting in the hands of a very well-dressed slave. If it wasn’t for the rather disgusting Radacke brand on her forehead, she could’ve been easily confused by a fellow Dynast. She offered the plate towards Tanith as the door closed behind her, and the driver took his seat and set the carriage in motion. “Take anything you wish, Miss Tanith.” Would say the head of the Radacke Dynasty as he leaned back, smile ever-present in his bearded features. The journey would be more than a bell long, even with the proximity to the city. It was perhaps the inconvenience of the swamps and the treacherous roads, the floods and the mud that made the journeys so prolonged. Even the Kabrin Road, road used by the very brave souls that dared travel between cities, was impossible to be maintained.

“I’ve heard about you, Miss Tanith. As you can understand, sitting in the Office has its perks. I know of you, and I know of your business, the Raven’s Rose. It is an impressive shop, I’ve been told. Opening at the age of 19 was quite a feat – it shows you have a sharp business mind. I wouldn’t be surprised if you one day made as head of the Sitai Dynasty.” Mica winked and chuckled with that disdain proper of any Dynast. He was head of the Radacke, of course, and so his posh manners were multiplied when compared to any other individual. The perks of power, perhaps. “Let’s not dabble on chatter, and let’s talk business instead. We’re all about business, after all. Money in itself is useless if one doesn’t invest it. We, the Dynasts, are the ones blessed with the task of giving it a purpose. When others spend their mizas raising temples for Gods or buying sticks and stones like they do in the North, we are here to truly make the center of all humanity. That’s why we expand and we invest, why we export our crops to most cities around us. We have the tools, but most of all, the strength to move past obstacles that may hinder our objective.”

Chuckling once again and shaking his head, the Magistrate would take one of the grapes from the platter and toss it in his mouth. “I’m rambling. That’s the thing about sitting in that Office all day. Anyway, let’s really tackle the matter at hand. I want to give you a job, a temporary job, if you wish to call it that. It’s a couple of days long, and you’ll receive pay. If you’ve recalled, there’s a man that’s been paying visits to the Dynasties. Very charming man, in fact. You may have seen him, too. Well, that man had a very interesting offer for us, the Dynasts. We have the manpower to help him, and we will help him since he’s already paid us. Even more, he’s paid us only half of what he’s promised. I can’t really delve into details about this as you needn’t know anything more on the matter. However, we’re going to help him. I’ve spoken to all the Heads of the Dynasties and they all agree – it is a common interest for us all to help this man.” A small pause came, Mica staring at the female to read her reaction. He would proceed moments later.

“Tanith, what we need from you is your skill in philtering. We’ve been sending slaves and some Dynasts to this project for a while now, and while we’ve not been lucky enough to complete our task, we have been experiencing some delays after some of the slaves started falling down and, you know, not getting back up. Of course, we’ve been sending the weak and useless ones, but that will change from now on. In seven days, we’ll be sending a bigger caravan with healthier workers along with some Freeborns to help and some Dynasts to oversee things. That’s where you come in. In seven days, at the 18th bell, you can present yourself before the Traveler’s Complex where you’ll be taken to the location in question. I trust that you’ll be wise and you’ll know that this is a very, very important task I’m giving you, and I’d hate to see you refuse it. It would not be proper of someone as business minded as you to reject this offer. You won’t regret it. If you’re interested, just be there when the caravan leaves town and you’ll see what I mean, and why this is so important for us all. You’ll get more information on that day… And you know how much information is worth around here, don’t you? So think about it. You’ve got seven days to do so.”

Clapping once and chuckling once again, the Magistrate would lean forward and speak once again. “So! How’s the family?” He wouldn’t mention the topic again, of course, and the slow journey would be filled with posh chatter and gossiping as Dynasts often dwelled on such subjects. Once in the city, they would drop Tanith before her shop before the Magistrate headed into his prestigious office.



Achenar




Zaelsen Radacke was not a dumb man. Everyone who had ever interacted with him knew so, even if they never exchanged words. The man was simply otherworldly, as if living two lives at the same time that, perhaps, shaped the mystery around him. Cousin of Mica Radacke, currently in charge of the Magistrate, this blood bond allowed him to be in advantage whenever any rumors or developments in the city were worthy of his attention. This being Kenash, however, everything was worthy of his attention. Even the smallest detail could be used against somebody, as leverage, as a nail in the coffin for that person’s destiny. However, rumors were not his deal, for his ears were not worthy of most of those pieces of information. Instead, he used his pets to do the work for him.

Still, his business and personal niche was pleasure and lust, usually in the form of domination. The need to dominate, to seize control over a sentient being was simply delicious for this particular man, whom had long ago learned such lesson and based his entire life about these sensations. That is why now, when so many strange happenings were going on within Kenash, he felt the need to dominate once again. Domination was not only physical, of course, as otherwise it wouldn’t be as graceful and fulfilling to fuel a life based around it. No… Domination often meant psychological control over another being, and that is where the gathering of information came into play. He knew some of the details, he had met the man of the hour, yet he still didn’t feel on top. It was bothering him, indeed, slowly eating away at his brain and sanity to have met that man and being unable to raise his head in superiority before him. Money was not as fulfilling as it was knowing, controlling, puppeteering. It wasn’t even close.

The rumor quickly arrived to him of the Magistrate’s intentions: a caravan was to leave the 57th towards this ongoing project outside the reach of his pets. It had been going on for half a season already, and yet not even his cousin was giving him information about it. This was alarming, of course, as it made him feel as the leash in the palm of his hand was slowly to slip away. He knew that most of those that went there never returned, and despite it all, he still had to know what that mysterious man’s intentions were. It is then when he decided to risk it, to risk one of his pets, to gamble away the life of one of his slaves with the hopes of unveiling the truth. Achenar would go there, he decided, and he would have to be strong and survive. He would go there in seven days, and he’d better have his eyes and ears open so that he comes back with something useful. Zaelsen decided that, indeed, yet Achenar would know nothing about it until that day. After all, he had work in the meantime, and the Dungeon couldn’t afford to have a distracted prostitute taking care of business.

After all, that was just another one of his pets. Everyone knew that animals strapped onto a leash deserved no explanations other than a jerk or a kick in the snout whenever they were disobedient.



Coryn and Firenze




The female had arrived just on the 40th of this spring, unfortunately after the auctions were over. The Auction Hall and its owner, Marshall Sitai, was rather enchanted with the arrival of this precious stock. An Ethaefal with a Ranuri mark was simply a blessing, the owner already feeling sexually aroused with the quantity of mizas he would make from her. Giving her the same treatment as every other slave, he would have her locked up in her cell until the auction hall opened again in ten days. After all, they were nothing but meat meant to be sold to the highest bidder, and until then she was nothing but an expense. To even further his excitement, a valuable and exotic Kelvic (a virgin, no less) had been sold to him at the price of a human. He had laughed all night at the stupidity of the man who sold her, unknown of her true value.

Unfortunately for Marshall Sitai, however, not everything went according to his plans. On the morning of the 50th, bells before the opening of the auction in which Coryn and Firenze would be sold, Marshall joyfully trotted around his domain, inspecting most valuable stock and calculating the amount of chests of golden mizas he’d receive for each one of them. It wasn’t until Sephen Radacke and his brother Tattaricus arrived in the Auction Hall that Marshall’s smile would fade away. A recent misunderstanding between him and the Magistrate had caused him to be in a bad position. He had sold a couple of women to Mica Radacke, promising they were to last extensive abuse and infinite amounts of pain, and yet that had proven to be a lie as those two women had perished on their first day. He had tried to explain, to lie out of the mistake, yet it was clear that the relationship between him and the Radacke had been damaged. While he blamed the Radacke for his sickening likes, the Magistrate had accused him of selling him poor stock and thus the troubles started for the entrepreneur. At the sight of the two, Marshall’s wide grin faded.

“Good morning, gentlemen. May I off—“ Sephen interrupted him with a gesture, clearly being the dominant force even if this was Marshall’s domain. A wide and disgusting smile was flashed to the Sitai, perhaps to let him know that his luck was about to run out. “Mister Sitai. We are interested in buying your finest and most valuable stock for Magistrate Mica Radacke himself. As you may know, the Magistrate’s busy schedule does not allow him to be present in the Auction, and so he sent us to inspect your finest stock and purchase it if we consider it appropriate. Please, lead the way.” Marshall’s rage knew no bounds, yet his smile would never leave his face. He had learned long ago that emotion had to be suppressed, especially when dealing with business. Showing emotion in the middle of a transaction was a weakness, for letting the customer read you like a letter could have serious consequences. Nodding, he’d simply conduct the two men to the end of the hall, the place in which both Firenze and Coryn stood in contiguous cells.

“Interesting. What are they?” Asked Tattaricus, his low and deep voice usually unheard as he was a man of few words. “Ranuri marked Ethaefal and a Tiger Kelvic.” He’d answer, glancing over at the two women. Tattaricus may be a man of few words, yet he was far from dumb. He turned to Marshall and stared at him, aware that a Kelvic was not as valuable as a Ranuri Marked – there had to be more than that. Marshall felt the pressure, and for a few ticks he refused to give in, yet at the end he was forced to speak. “The Kelvic is a virgin. If you gentlemen look behind you, you’ll see we have these two studs, Ethae---“ Sephen chuckled loudly, interrupting Marshall’s attempt of steering their attention. “No. We’ll take these two.” Marshall’s teeth clenched. The two Radacke knew that females sold for more, always. “Well, gentlemen… I’m not sure if you would be willing to spend so much coin in these two. After all, their cost together is over five—“

“Who said we’ll pay for them? If I don’t recall correctly, you promised the Magistrate two women that would last two entire weeks, and they did not last past the first night. We’ll take these for free, if you don’t mind. Of course, that is our offer. If you refuse, you can always make an appointment to see the Magistrate, and then explain to him why you lied about your stock. Maybe you can even be lucky and not face any penal charges, like fraud. If you do, however, you may end up losing your business. You lied to the Magistrate, after all. He may end up just tying a rope around your neck and hanging you past the city gates.” Glancing over at the infuriated Marshall, Sephen winked to him as he offered a smile. “Fine.” Said Marshall, taking the keys and starting to open Coryn’s cage. Sephen, however, was not yet done, as instead he shook his head and stopped Marshall’s hand. “Actually, leave them there. We’ll come back for them in seven days. I hope you don’t mind them occupying two of your cages or tending to them. Make sure you don’t accidentally sell them, though. In your situation, that wouldn’t be advisable.”


Just like that, the two Radacke spun on their heels and left, their task here being complete, while Marshall watched the chests of gold fade away from his fantasies.



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50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Cocoon on March 15th, 2016, 2:31 pm

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18th Bell | 57th of Spring, 516 AV | Traveler's Complex | West Bank




How unfortunate it was that, just on the day of the execution of the elaborate plan, one of the worst droughts of Kenash was in full effect. The humidity was so low in the last seven days that the River lost most of its flow, that breathing was easier yet the temperatures were harsher. It didn’t only affect the Nashers, as they called themselves, and their businesses, but also affected the wild swamp around them. There were news of fires, yet they were not rumors. The smoke could be seen in the skies, looming around the bald cypress trees that composed the treacherous forest in the swamp. The price of beverages and water itself had spiked severely, to the point of silver coins being needed for a simple cup of disgustingly warm water. Many fled the city on this very day, the visitors and Freeborns unused to these harsh climates packing their wagons and sending their caravans at the road. The Traveler’s Complex was the epicenter of this exodus, for carts, wagons and carriages were all stabled within the edifice.

However, now that the fiery afternoon was upon the city, it was all paralyzed. Instead, the wagons, carts and carriages of the Dynasties were there, occupying the road as the slaves worked all the details, their masters watching from the shade and shouting commands. It wasn’t as organized as one could expect, being rather chaotic as equipment and supplies were being loaded manually. Every once in a while a slave fell to the ground with a dry thud, sometimes moving and fighting to get back up on their feet, fighting to crawl a few feet, or simply not moving anymore as the heat had taken their lives. Those individuals were also loaded, in a wagon aside from it all where the corpses rotted in the sunlight and attracted the opportunistic flies. Of course, those were the old ones, the invaluable ones, the ones that simply had no more use. Nobody would miss them, for laziness and delays were not a part of the Nasher lifestyle. There was certainly no worry in the face of the few Dynasts that watched from the shadows, more worried about their property wiping their sweat properly than to address the unintentional genocide that was slowly escalating.

More fertilizer for the fields, they thought. Less expenses from their pockets.

The few educated slaves that knew how to read shouted names, and those whose name was called approached only to be pointed towards their respective destination. Most of them were slaves, of course, and they were loaded into overloaded (yet thankfully covered) wagons and afterwards chained together. Freeborns boarded simplistic carriages in groups of four, before the doors were closed and they were left inside to wait until the travel began. The very few Dynasts that were to move with the caravan did so in bigger carriages, the luxury within being maximal as they even had beds and a selection of foods to ease the journey. Once this batch was complete, the drivers took their seats and whipped the horses before they quickly disappeared from the west bank and entered the dry swamps. A few chimes passed before yet another convoy arrived, empty and ready to transport the next batch of workers onto wherever they were going.

It was now that those educated slaves began shouting the names of the selected individuals, one in charge of calling for the two Dynasts, another in charge of calling for the Freeborns, and lastly, one in charge of checking if all the slaves were present. The slaves were slaves, after all. They had no choice in the matter, and they had no other option but to follow the leash that was being pulled. Firenze and Coryn were drug from the Auction Hall by a middleman, Achenar also being drug from the dungeon in which he was usually employed without any sort of warning. The horses were given water for the last time before they were to depart, and so the only thing remaining was to account for everyone present, load them up and ship them out.



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50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Konrad Venger on March 23rd, 2016, 3:59 am

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"Here!"

There was a burst of sound like a saw through a young sapling, and the man in the black hat answered the slave's call. The well-fed scribe, born well to his manor and proud of his position, squinted against the shimmering glare and noted the figure. He was slouched in a chair outside the complex, leather boots kicked out, elbow resting on the edge of a table, not an inch of him within the sunlight. Despite that, the hat stayed where it was, and as the slave looked-

-the man raised his gaze, and the scribe saw him full and afresh. He gulped, then slashed a quick, neat black check next to the man's name.

The man took another pull from the wine sack in his hand, the second he'd been through in the last bell. It was weak, watered-down stuff; there was likely more kick in actual river water... but he knew that was probably due to disease, too. Kenash was a city built on whispers, on the conjuring of gold, holdings, buildings from promises and lies. He was not so misanthropic that he hadn't learned her virulent sickness was this time of year; he was was not so old that he'd forgotten his upbringing, back in that stinking, godforsaken city on the far east, where dysentery, pox and pus-rot killed as many as daggers, fists and poison.

He tipped it back and held himself back from draining it proper. Didn't know how long he had to wait, after all.

A smile broke on his face, crooked as a rough gouge through stubborn flesh. He had to admit, his mind ran the gamut seven days ago, getting that petching summons. He had to hide a smirk behind his hand when the whole list of charges were dumped on him, spouted off by that pompous little snotling with his beefy minders at his side.

Not really fair, he'd thought as he heard the charges. I haven't had a chance to get to most of that, yet... and in fairness, it would be for the Magistrate.

The smirk didn't last, when the Dynast got to the stick of the scroll. Konrad didn't much understand the fancy words, but "reproductive organs" he got just fine, and no bastard was taking those from him. Which was where the carrot came in: sign the dotted line, do some work for us, and you're innocent.

Konrad couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. He'd been the Magistrate's pet for the last ten days. He'd already bloodied his hands with the nature of that job. Now there were entirely separate charges for him to need to wash them clean of?

Radacke could have just petching asked me in the first place.

But Short-N-Bald needed an answer then, so Konrad did the smart thing when confronted by two armed men in an enclosed space and signed the damned scroll. Then he'd gone to see his Radacke contact the next day, and got naught but a simple command.

Go along with it, don't even think about leaving town, and stop ask petching questions.

That's when Konrad's street senses got to twitching like mad. They could have just asked, but when you ask, a man might say no. Smell trouble, something bigger than he can handle. But when you hit him with something that intense, that big and black and inescapable, it keeps him tethered. No backing out, no running away, just like a-

Slave, he thought with a spiteful spit that sizzled on the stone it landed on. Petching lovely...

So there he sat, sweating through his white shirt, black jacket laid out on the table next to him. He hadn't bothered bringing Nag - good a name as any, seeing that's what he is - reasoning that if this was some sort of trap, he didn't want to bring all his assets with him. By that same reasoning, he'd left little to spare as far as weaponry went. A cruelly curved kopis was at his belt, it's smaller cousin strapped to the small of his back, his faithful kukri. He had a couple of extra surprises concealed in his boot and tucked behind his belt, but... no need to go advertising those just yet.

A heavy crossbow was propped up against the wall, quiver stuffed with bolts next to it. Beads of gasping condensation were collected on the wood, like the very weapons were tired of waiting as well.

Konrad huffed quietly to himself and there was a silver gleam as he drew his main weapon. Ticks later the Dynasts, their slaves, their toadies and their guards, were serenaded by Konrad Venger sharpening his kopis, a steady beat of grinding, grating hissing that cleaved through the close air like dying gasps.

||Common||Thoughts||Pavi||Fratava||Myrian||Other's Speaking||
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Note: As of Fall 517AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas
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50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Achenar on March 23rd, 2016, 5:25 am

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Life as a slave in Kenash was never predictable, but the unpredictability of this current season caught the weary ethaefal off guard. He'd been running errands for his master before he'd arrived at the dungeon, but before he was corralled into one of those rooms he was promptly clapped in irons and lead away from the lucrative establishment and out into the blazing heat of the sun.

It was blisteringly hot, and the light linen garments he was donned in were plastered to his back and hips. With the start of the evening it wouldn't be long before he shed the guise of his mortal form for the one that drew most of the attention. Fortunately, he wouldn't be out on the streets by the time that happened, judging by where he was being herded off to. The Radacke name was on the lips of most of the denizens of Kenash. He heard the whispers among the dynasts as they enjoyed their glass of wine in the lounge. He could see the looks of disdain he received simply by baring the mark of the hammer on his temple.

The two men who tugged at his leash paused as they arrived in what seemed like a conglomeration of people, carriages and flies. Achenar could practically feel the hot, dry oxygen that he breathed into his lungs, but he said not a word. He knew better. His somber blue eyes roamed the faces that surrounded him. Slaves were terrified and the freeborns seemed to turn a blind eye. Dynasts, of course, stood on the backs of the very slaves that ran the churning, guttural machine that was Kenash.

"Achenar."

He heard his voice called through the still air. The ethaefal glanced up just in time to be shoved harshly by the man who held his leash. He stumbled, and realized now that where he was going wasn't back to the Whiplash estate as he had originally presumed, but somewhere else. Where had his master sent him? Why was he here?

Fear was a familiar feeling for him. And he could feel it now, like a churning in his gut. The harsh grating of steel against stone sounded like the melody of death to his ears. I'm no longer of any use, and now Zaelsen Radacke is disposing of me. He should have been happy that his torment would come to an end, but instead he felt a despair in the pit of his stomach and heavy lump build up in his throat. His hands curled into fists and his eyes, drawn to the noise, landed on the man whose visage could have been the manifestation of a child's nightmare.

He didn't have time to utter a word, however, before he was unceremoniously pushed into the carriage meant for slaves. Shackled and secured, there, he waited.


y
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50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Valerius Nitrozian on March 23rd, 2016, 7:13 am

Valerius had just been going through the notes he had taken the day before, an unplasant, but necessary task when he noticed that there were two men standing outside his office, pointing and talking. He put his papers away, frowning. What did they want? Were they talking about him or his business? Were they potential clients? He doubted it. They didn’t look like proper dynasty members. He considered closing the curtains so that he wouldn’t have to see them – they were getting on his nerves and distracted him, he had work to do for Rhysol’s sake! – but then he decided that it would be better to confront them and find out what they could possibly want from him.

He opened the door. Unlike the two men the Ravokian was not smiling. He was not even giving them a fake smile. Another man might have looked shocked or even scared, another man might have looked uncomfortable upon hearing that they brought bad news, but Valerius did no such thing. He just looked at them coolly, as if they were talking about the weather – currently rather unpleasant – or another comparatively trivial matter. „Yes, I am Valerius Nitrozian“, he replied, wondering why they felt the need to ask him to confirm his identity. It was unlikely that the Magistrate would send them to the wrong person. Mica Radacke didn’t seem like the kind of man that made such mistakes to him.

As they informed him that he had not gotten his license and was apparently considered a felon because of it , his eyes widened a little, but not because he began to fear for his life and his freedom, no, it was the audacity of it all that shocked him. How dare they! Did they really think he would believe such a lie? If the Magistrate never lost a thing, he had let his license disappear on purpose. He knew how such things went. It had been the same in Ravok. If you wanted to destroy somebody, you started by accusing him of a crime he had not committed and spread rumours about him.

He wondered if there had been anybody that he had angered, if they had maybe gotten wind of the things he had done in Ravok, but decided that this could not be the case. He had been careful. Besides, the Magistrate didn’t seem to be the kind of man that cared about experiments on Kelvic and poisoning the less fortunate members of society. He had also been careful not to inflict any permanent damage on the slaves in the Caged Sun, and he had been nothing but polite to those dynasty brats. So why had Micah Radacke decided to get rid of him?

Theft? Improper construction? The removal of his Freeborn status? Slavery? How did they expect him to react? Did they want him to drop on his knees and beg forgiveness for crimes he had never committed? Was he supposed to plead with them to spare him? Grovel at their feet? He would do no such thing. They were right of course, he didn’t have ten thousand mizas, but his grandfather did. He doubted that Sitanos Nitrozian would let him rot in a dungeon or do slave work for the rest of his life, even if he had not accomplished as much as his cousin Trevinus. If money was the problem, that could be easily solved …

He was about to tell them that he would pay of course, as much as they wanted, that his family were quite rich, when they mentioned how they could help him get a license. It all made sense now. Of course. They wanted something from him. They had found out that he was quite skilled in certain areas and decided to bribe him into doing something for them, something that they thought he would never do voluntarily. Couldn't the Magistrate just have asked instead of taking such extreme measures to ensure his collaboration? He sighed inwardly.

"Gentlemen“, he spoke and smiled a fake little smile of his own. „please let the Magistrate know that I am always willing to help. I will of course be at the Traveller’s Complex on the 57th and do whatever I can in exchange for a new license. Your employer will not be disappointed. And I am sorry about your sister.“

He said the last sentence to Pappador. The tone of his voice was very polite. He knew better than to let that anger show, to do more than hint at the fact that he had seen through their ploy. They would probably not like to have that pointed out to them. Here in Kenash he was only a Freeborn, not a member of the ruling class, not yet. Once this bothersome little episode was over, he decided, he really needed to do something about his status.
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50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Verena Lorak on March 23rd, 2016, 12:05 pm

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It was a busy morning filled with dehydrated workers and fainting Dynasty ladies when Bella came into the healing room, claiming that there were two men requesting an audience with her. They are not patients, the slave had said. Without even bothering to ask who it was, the lady simply told her slave to ask her guests to wait. She had more important matters at hand.

Ten chimes later, the healer finally stepped out, looking somewhat disheveled in comparison to the two men. Verena had sat down on her own chair, watching them closely as the one named Sephen started talking. The Lorak was not thrilled that her work was interrupted, especially by Radackes – the last time one of them had visited her office, things did not go as she had expected. Still, she listened to what they had to say. At the mention of the Magistrate, her interest was piqued.

They said that Lorana had chosen her specifically for the task, to represent the Lorak Dynasty. It was rather unexpected. She would not be a good representative of her family, not according to most people. But then the Radacke mentioned she was to assist in the field of medicine, which made more sense. She doubted there was anyone else in her family as driven as her – regarding medicine, at least.

She did not even have the chance to ask the questions crowding her mind before they left. Truth be told, Verena’s curiosity was starting to grow and it was enough for her to make the decision right then.

------------------------------

Verena had gone out of her way to prepare for the week long journey. There was not much to go on with the information the Radackes had given and Lorana was not interested in telling her what she wanted to know. It was still a couple of bells until the designated time, but Verena had plans to come in early, giving her time to gather what little information about this whole thing.

Truthfully because of her clinic, Verena had half the mind to decline the request. With the heat getting worse in Kenash, it was an unfortunate time to have the clinic closed. Even before her day of departure, more and more patients had flooded the Mortal Slave, Dynasts and Freeborns alike.

“Taloe will be in charge of caring for the patients,” Verena announced as she headed into her office. “Calisha will come here to oversee things, but she said she will be no help and leave the first chance she got. I expect everything to still be in order once I return. If there is any trouble dealing with the patients, refer them to the Radjud-Dalat. I have notified N’Salla about my leave and she had agreed to help.”

Once she finished her instructions, Verena entered her office and shedded the clothes she usually wore at the clinic. Bella had laid out the clothes she requested – a thin silk shirt, a pair of breeches, and her leather corset.

It was barely a chime later when she was interrupted. “Lord Cassius is here to see you, my lady,” Hallan announced from outside the door. Before she could react, the door had swung open, the familiar of the Paille closing the door behind him.

Other than a brief surprise, Verena barely paused as she stepped into her pants and reached for her shirt. Despite everything, the Lorak had never been a prude and the thought of Cas being in the same room as she changed did not bother her. Besides, they were supposed to be married soon. It shouldn’t matter.

Still, as a gentleman of Kenash, Cas turned his gaze away as he spoke. “You are leaving with the caravan, are you not? Everyone had been talking about it and carts are being prepared as we speak. Why did you not tell me?”

Verena shrugged as she pulled the thin clothing on, rolling up the sleeves. She already had a similar conversation with her brother about this, but Zorane was a lot less calm about it. “I was not supposed to tell anyone about it.” There was nothing to tell, anyway. She did not know what they were doing or even their destination. Yet, it seemed like they did not make an effort to hide their departure. Odd.

Though dissatisfied, Cas did not press his betrothed. It was better for him not to know, rather risk landing Verena into trouble. So, he leaned against the wall and watched as she packed her things.

She took her dagger from her drawer and tossed it into the bag carelessly. A filled waterskin soon followed. Moving on, Verena pulled out her surgeon kit, rolling it open as to make sure that every tool was there. Taking it with her meant that there will none left in the clinic, but it did not matter for she was the only who was capable to perform a surgery. Simply to be safe, the healer prepared a few small jars of common salves. It should be no heavier than the bag she usually lugged around while making rounds through the plantations. Though since the journey was a week long, she would have to bring more sets of clothes. Lastly, she stuffed her cloak and gloves inside – it was better to prepare some sort of shield against the elements.

Someone suddenly cleared his throat. The Lorak barely even noticed that Cas was still there.

Cas already had her sheathed dagger in his hand, looking at it. “You shouldn’t put it in your bag. What if you have a sudden need for it?” The man suddenly knelt down in front of her and strapped the sheath around her thigh. He was careful as not to touch her too much. “There, it should be easier to reach. Make sure you will not cut yourself.”

As soon as he stood, the Paille pulled her into an embrace, his familiar arms wrapping around her. “Promise me you will be alright. We do have a wedding next season.”

“I will be fine, Cas,” Verena replied coolly, her voice muffled by his shirt. Even when she knew that she had no idea whether or not there will be danger involved. Still not entirely comfortable with the intimacy, the young woman pulled away rather swiftly.

It did not take long after that for her to walk to the Travelers Complex. By the time she arrived, Verena was already covered by a thin layer of sweat. It was certainly not a good weather to be in. She would then find herself a place to sit under the shade, somewhere she could see all the happenings.

She simply sat and watched the preparations unfolding before her. Even though the young woman was trying to glean what little information she could, she found herself distracted by the amount of slaves crumpling under the heat. Her first instinct was to go and help them, Rak’keli’s gift calling to her. But Verena forced herself to stay still. Those who did not rise again she could not help and those that did would be fine.

Only when she heard her name being called out that the lady stood and presented herself to the slave. Wasting no time, Verena approached the slave and asked, “Where are we heading to precisely?” She had been promised answers today and she would like to get it. Whether or not the slave answered, the Lorak would soon turn her attention to the bustling activities around her.

So far, three men stood out. Achenar in all his unearthly glory, chained and shackled, forced into a measly carriage along with the other slaves. The red-headed man – Valerius – who was her own tutor. Lastly was a man with a marred face and a wide-brimmed hat, standing not too far from a sinister looking crossbow. Despite her intelligent mind, Verena could not conjure a logical reason for such a ragtag collection of people. Perhaps it would make sense when more people had arrived.
Last edited by Verena Lorak on March 23rd, 2016, 11:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Tanith Sitai on March 23rd, 2016, 2:36 pm

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Tanith Sitai was more than a little surprised to be visited by the magistrate himself, and she was sure the expression was visible on her face. Composure! She scolded herself as the driver ushered her into the carriage. Behind her, Astrid dipped her head in a respectful farewell before taking her leave, likely to make her own way to the The Raven while her mistress rode in luxury. She declined the food politely, sitting neatly across from Mica Radacke, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

It was quite an effort for Tanith to keep her face relaxed and blank as the Magistrate dithered on and on. It seemed the man had a particular talent when it came to words; the more he spoke, the less Tanith knew of what he was on about.

~


Tanith stood in the doorway of the lavish carriage that had been provided to the dynasty members for their unknown trip, gazing out at the small group that had been gathered at The Travellers Complex. Her long fingers deftly picked apart her braid, combed through the thick brown waves, and then divided them up again so that they may be wound back together. She repeated the pattern a half dozen times, her movements fuelled purely by nervous energy.

She had arrived almost a bell earlier than she had been due, her philtering kit over her left shoulder and her personal pack on her back. She was left to carry her own bags, a rare occurrence, as Astrid had been left back in Kenash Proper to tend The Raven. Tanith's clothes were the very simplest and most practice that she owned, consisting of comfortable, worn leather pants, a soft linen blouse and sturdy leather boots. She had her dagger strapped to her waist, though it's presence did more to unnerve her more than it comforted her.

She had taken to the designated carriage as soon as her presence had been confirmed by the slave's in attendance. She had stowed her bags away, more than happy to await their departure in the shade of the carriage. The heat was resilient however, and sweat already slicked from the nap of her neck, all the way down to the small of her back. Her mood darkened further as a well-armed man in a wide hat began to sharpen his weapons a few yards away, the steady, rasping scrap of the blade against stone setting her teeth on edge. It was akin to nails on a chalkboard to Tanith.

Grumbling in irritation, she averted her gaze in an attempt to distract herself. Think of the money... She reminded herself, taking a deep, steadying breath. She had been given very little choice of whether or not she'd wanted to join this expedition, the magistrate had been quite persistent, his threats thinly veiled. She was truly clueless as to what may be awaiting them, and it was this unknown future that was slowly making Tanith a nervous wreak. Though the thought of what may happen over the next few days caused fear to thrum deep in her belly, the thought of a reward at the end was enough to ease her mind.
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50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Firenze on March 25th, 2016, 3:35 am

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Things had gone from bad to worse. Fire listened to the faint patter of rain from far above her head. Water dripped slowly in the corner of the stall in which she was sitting. A piece of hay was being picked apart with thin fingers, a coughing could be heard somewhere nearby. Dark circles ran under her eyes from restless sleep. Noises from the other stalls and those that patrolled had her on constant alert. The moment she felt her body finally giving in it would jerk back awake. She’d managed some sleep off and on during the days that she’d been stuck at the Auction House. It had been a week since she’d arrived, the counting a means of passing time.

Being caged in the stall was making her skin crawl. Standing, her palms pressing against the wooden barrier, she began pacing along the wall closest to the door. The hay pricked against her bare feet and the metal chain around her ankle made clinking noise every time she shifted. The woman who’d done the in-processing inspection had taken all her clothing, a raggedy piece of cloth swayed loosely against her body. The thoughts of the things done to check her medically gave her shivers.

Normally being nude was not an issue, even being touched didn’t bother her. Her previous profession was a good example of this. However, the cold unfeeling and methodical inspection of every crease and crevice of her body left her with a feeling of sick. The deadpan eyes that checked her over spoke volumes of the things the woman had seen. She’d stood in the middle of the room for bells on end as she was checked over leaving her exhausted. Trying to shut her mind off she’d focused on a corner of the room, numbing herself to all the eyes that watched. Her memory stirred up the ending of the process as she paced, her feet shuffling across the floor. When it came to the questioning, the inspector sitting on a chair across from her, she answered numbly. “Where are you from?”

“Syliras.”

“What is your name?”

“Genovive Marshall. I do not go by that name. I go by Firenze.”

The list of mundane questions lasted for what seemed an eternity. Her vacant gaze never left the corner of the room as she replied monotonously. It wasn’t until the last question that her eyes flew to the woman sitting across from her. Heart racing within her chest a sweat broke on her skin. “What is your race?”

“I…” she stumbled the word from her mouth. Telling others what she naturally was wasn’t something that she was accustomed to. Being raised in Sunberth you didn’t tell others your business, you didn’t share, just did what you had to and moved on, lest be killed. Fire cleared her throat and the woman pushed, annoyed that she was stalling, What is your race?”

“Er... uh…” coughing she mumbled, “Kelvic.”

A heavy brow furrowed as the woman glared at her, What is your race. Speak clearly. I won’t ask again.”

Staring, her heart racing at what the woman would do, she spoke, “Kelvic.” A brow rose on the woman’s face and the corner of her mouth tipped up. “Say’s ‘ere your Human. Is this wrong then?” A soft nod came from Firenze, blonde matted hair stayed unmoving against the head that bobbed, eyes now downcast. She jumped when the woman called for someone to grab the auctioneer who’d bought her.

After the slender man entered the two spoke in whispers for a moment as she waited. A deep cackling laugh rumbled in his throat and resounded around the room. He moved over to her and began to check Firenze over personally. “My, my, my, I’ve heard quite a few things about you,” a slender finger reached under her chin, the nail biting into the soft flesh, he tipped her head up to look at her features. “You were quite worth the gold spent. Now. Tell me what you are.”

Confusion settled a moment as golden eyes watched the long gaunt looking face and the dark, almost black, eyes stared hard at her. She’d told them what her race was, what else could he mean? He must have noticed the confusion swirling in her gaze as he dropped his hand and stepped back. Sweeping a hand across the open area he gave instruction, “Shift.” He motioned for someone to unlock the collar around her neck.

Thoughts ran through her mind as she watched the other person move slowly toward her. I could shift. I could kill them all and leave this wretched place. Her heart now raced for an altogether different reason. As soon as her plan had begun to form she caught sight of him waving his hand again. This time large men stepped into the room. A crossbow aimed at her, another with a long sharp sword and the final with what appeared to be a webbing of some sort.

“Try anything and they will kill you, I will make sure of it. Although I’d rather not because you will fetch quite the pretty miza. So be a good girl and do as you’re told and you won’t be hurt,” an evil smile crept across his face. Heart falling she glanced between the men who’d entered, the man in front of her, the woman on the seat and the other coming to unlock her collar.

Feet stilled and her ears perked at the sound. Boots. A pair of them. Her mind ran through all the possibilities of who it might be. The shuffling stopped nearby, her own mimicking just out of sight. As soon as the footfalls ceased two more pairs joined. Leaning toward the door she listened as a muffled conversation could be heard.

Marshall. She’d heard that name in the past few days and knew it was associated with the auctioneer she’d met on the day she was sold. The other two were unfamiliar but the tone was obvious; they were of a higher standing. The voices moved closer, progressively getting louder until they stood in front of the metal bars that kept her locked within.

Two men dressed in bright purple clothing stood next to Marshall asking of what her and the other women were. The other was an Ethaefal? The question rose but only for a tick, eyes tried to see around the corner of the cell that she stood in. Unable to check the other out she was curious to what an Ethaefal might be and if it were human like she.

Turning her attention to the loudly dressed men she watched as one glared at Marshall, the disdain and haughty air exuded thickly around him. Eyes flashed and a red of embarrassment flushed across her cheeks as Marshall told them that she was a virgin. The exam to determine fresh in her memory. It didn’t go unnoticed though that he was trying to redirect their attention away from the two in the stalls and to other slaves in the area. However, the reasoning behind this move was lost on her.

Sickness flooded her stomach, the back of her hand came up brushing her lips to hold the rising bile back as she listened to the man gaffawed and then firmly dismiss Marshall, choosing the two of them. Was this it? Were these two strangers going to be her owners? Marshall had tried again to redirect them elsewhere and it was quickly shut down, again. The main speaker in the flamboyant garb told of a third party that they would be going to. So the new owner isn’t present. A striking fear rose with the bile this time as he mentioned that the last slaves the absent owner had own died… on the first night. It scared her immensely, as that could be her fate.

Some of the conversation was unheard as her mind spun. Tears threatened but she tipped her chin up, jutting it out slightly to steel herself against the sob. She would not let the fear take hold, would not show weakness in front of the men that had just decided her fate. Hands fisted next to her side, her face trying to become impassive. Unfortunately it didn’t last long, it feel as soon as she heard them say she was to be stuck in the cells for another week. Hands wrapped around the bars and eyes followed as the two men departed. She didn’t know if it was a blessing or curse.

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Seven days. That was the length of time in which she waited to see what fate she met with the new owner. It felt like they moved both quickly and slowly at the same time. Ready to be out into the sun and semi-fresh air, she closed her eyes briefly as soon as Syna’s rays touched her skin. Smoke was apparent on the wind and could be seen above the thick of the tree tops. Someone shoved her from behind, pushing her toward a large gaggle near a round of wagons. Shuffling with the other gaunt bodies a woman next to her dropped to the ground. Gasping she tried to reach down to help her up, only to be shoved again and her face land in the dirt. “Get up and move yer arse,” a kick came with a boot against her back, ripping part of the thin sack of clothing. The pain in her muscle ripped a soft cry from her throat, a low throaty growl following. Moving as quick as her body would allow to her feet she left the other who’d fallen as the crowd of slaves were shuffled toward an over stuffed wagon.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a familiar disfigured face and prayed to all the Gods she could think of that he would not be joining the caravan. Trying to avoid being seen she turned her face to the side, her attempts probably useless. Golden orbs caught the crowd of bystanders. Some dressed in fancy outfits, others more subtle but classy none the less. A woman stood among them with soft features and a gentle face. Dark hair and eyes that spoke of intelligence scanned the crowd. Fire only caught her briefly and looked as long as she dared before turning eyes back to the ground.

As they took turns being loaded into the wagons, the stopping and starting of the crowd moved her closer. A striking man with dark hair covered in tattoos loaded in front of her and then she stepped up. Squeezing between him and another to sit on the floor. Bodies rattled around weakly while the wagon shook as more loaded.

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50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

Postby Coryn on March 28th, 2016, 2:31 pm

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If life had successfully imparted one lesson onto Coryn in the short time she had been hopelessly wandering this world, it was the cruel fact that just as she became convinced things could not get any worse, they did with surprising and punishing ease. Syliras had made her feel caged, trapped in close quarters with arrogant knights and handsy drunks. And so she had left, seeking a new life in a city called Kenash.

She had been moronically hopeful. How the memory of her own excitement made her skin crawl now!

Travelling from Syliras had been an exhausted affair, and almost immediately Coryn had regretted her decision. The long days, the slow progress, the stench of sweating knights and their loud raucous jokes. Had it not been for two of her fellow travellers, the Ethaefal would have been close to suicidal.

No. Don’t think about them. Don’t let them become a memory. Forget them.

Those knights were all dead now, killed at the hands of the group of bandits and slavers who had attacked in the night. Men and women had died, whilst others had been thrown behind bars and declared slaves. Mere days ago they had been free. Coryn had been amongst the latter, claimed as a prize jewel of a slave. Her new masters were vulgar and aggressive, none more so than Konrad. He had killed with inhumane efficiency and coldness, in a manner that even Coryn could realise came from years of experience. She was frightened of him beyond sensibility. Yet he had protected her, and though back even then she knew this was due to her worth as a slave rather than genuine concern for her wellbeing, the ends outweighed the means. For a short while she had considered her positon safe, and though far from ideal, certainly things could have been worse.

Of course shortly after this realisation, worse her situation did indeed get.

It started with an attempted attack on the slavers, a stupid and noble affair that only one man could have comprehended as worth while. Briar was dead as well now, too. Another name added onto the growing list of faces Coryn used to know. She mourned for him every day, and for her own sanity too. She felt guilty over the role in his murder she had played. Harming the Drykas had been the last thing she had intended to do – and how well that had ended. Good deeds, such as caring for others and wishing them well, would get her nowhere.

And now.

Now Coryn found herself chained in a stinking stall. That she was awaiting to be sold did not bother the Ethaefal. In fact, very little did trouble her anymore. She had learnt that thanking her lucky stars only led to one ending; blood, regret, fear. Appreciation over one’s apparent safety only resulted in that security being yanked out from under your feet. Instead Coryn trained herself not to consider what might happen next to her, but instead what was happening right at that moment. The meagre meals given to her, the cries from the other slaves, the casual comments of the slavers when one of their living goods perished. Like rotten fruit, the bodies would be carried off, no doubt slung into a pit with other rotting meat.

It barely registered in Coryn’s mind when she was one day inspected by a face she had not seen before (hardly a new thing – Kenash was a city filled with strangers). She and the slave in the stall beside hers were discussed openly, and a deal was apparently struck. She had a new owner, a new master to serve. Coryn swallowed down this information as slowly as she could, reigning in whatever assumptions and thoughts she might otherwise make. Don’t hope. Don’t imagine. When the two men walked away without taking her with them, Coryn forced herself to not be disappointed or frightened, but to simply watch their backs disappear.

And when a third man appeared some days later - time passed strangely in this world so Coryn could not be sure how long exactly it had been – the Ethaefal merely looked vaguely towards his face and followed his sharp orders. She was hurried along with another woman, one she presumed to be her neighbour slave. Little attention was given to her chained companion, and instead Coryn looked around her, trying to gain what little information she could about where she was going. Temporarily she considered herself grateful that she stood in daylight, with the blonde and blue-eyed form of a Svefra and not of with the otherworldly form of an Ethaefal. The former attracted far less attention.

She was unceremoniously shoved into a carriage that was filled with other half-starved and exhausted bodies. Slaves. Wisely Coryn kept her hands to herself: she daren’t even know what desires lingered amongst her new companions.
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