Flashback Cold Steel 'Neath A Cold Moon

Imellion lived as a slave until this night

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

Cold Steel 'Neath A Cold Moon

Postby Imellion on March 1st, 2016, 9:50 pm

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Priskil's Pond, Winter 513 AV

It was the night the snow burned. The moon was full and bathed the sleeping pond in a harsh glare, casting even harsher shadows around every tree and wagon as the members of the caravan moved about the nightly business.

Imellion shivered in her clothes, far too thin for a night such as this, and huddled farther into the filthy straw of her wagon. In normal situations, it would have reeked, but her nose too frozen to tell. Another shiver tore at her body and she clutched her legs tighter. It made no difference in holding in the heat.

"Imel!" Jaxen, her adoptive father, called through the night. "Get the firewood, you stupid girl! Don’t have time for you to mope about!" He stomped into view, snow flecking his beard and furs, his voice softening, “I’ll have some food ready when you return.”

Imellion unbunched herself from her seat, brushing away the straw and dropped out of the wagon. She bit her lip as her feet touched the snow, cold biting instantly through the cloth and leather she had wrapped them in. The pain raged like a cold flame for several moments before dimming, and she realized they were going numb.

She stamped them in the snow and bit her lip again as they began to tingle. Imellion staggered forward, pushing herself through the snow, towards the forest that loomed around them. She could not remember how long they had been in these woods, but endless days of walking alongside the wagon through trees, stopping sometimes to forage and relive themselves.

She stopped at the edge of the treeline and tilted her head. There was something different in how this patch of wood felt. It felt like home, full of love and respect, perhaps even something more. Something kindled in her heart, like a tiny flame.

Her footsteps were a little lighter after that and the burning pain not as bad as she strode into the woods, wandering in a loose circle around the pond. She paused, squinting into the shadows to try and see what lay within them amid the tree trunks.

Sticks and branches, snapped by the winter, had fallen to lie half-buried within the drifts. Imellion slogged towards the nearest branch, shivering as the snow melted against her body. The warmth of the forest vanished this far into the woods, replaced by a sharp that screamed through the branches and froze Imellion to her bones.

She knelt, however, and buried her hands into the snow to grab the branch, fingers hurting as she wrapped them around it. Her feet plunged through the snow-crust and she toppled over.Snow cascaded over like a small tidal wave, getting in her mouth and eyes. Imellion shuddered and rose again, swaying on her feet as the snow cascaded down around her feet.

What if she just stayed out there? The thought intrigued her. She pictured herself running out into the woods, surviving off what she found and being free to run through the woods and dwell by this pond that felt of home.

Something snapped nearby and she jolted alert, eyes scanning the forest. A clump of snow fell from a nearby tree as the branch plummeted to the ground. She considered the fantasy of running free and her shoulders slumped. It would never work and certainly not in this weather. She did not have the supplies. Her only chance of survival depended on the caravan and that depended on fire.

“Oh, Priskil,” Imellion breathed out, “Help me endure.” She stood for a few more moments, staring at the woods. Shadows moved in the distance, or so it seemed, but she couldn’t tell what they were. After another few moments, Imellion shrugged and trudged towards a dark shape in the snow. Another cluster of branches that she gathered up and stored under her arm, wincing as wind picked up again and flung snow-powder into her face. The crystals glittered in the moonlight and Imellion’s breath caught in her throat.

It was beautiful, that curtain that hung there in cold night air, shining with a white moonlit flame, and then it was gone, plunging the woods back into tree-cast shadows. Imellion stayed there for several long moments, breath held, in case that moment, that tiny in-breath moment of magic.

It did not return. The night even began to feel like it had grown colder as she shook incessantly now, no matter how tightly she pulled her clothes tighter around her body. Voices echoed back from the caravan encampment, laughing and jesting in some cases, others harsh and angry. Each angry voice cut through her like a whiplash and she froze in place.

The bundle of sticks nearly fell from her arms, she trembled so strongly. She clutched at them before turning around to trudge back to the camp. Jaxen was waiting for her, she could see, and her stomach roiled at the thought of what might happen for taking so long.

Her feet were numb as she entered the clearing again, snow-sodden and eyelashes coated in crystals. Jaxen had arranged a small circle of stones and had his fire-starter out, along with some old cloth for kindling.

Imellion dropped the firewood beside him and then sank to the semi-cleared ground around him. The branches fell in a clatter, which Jaxen viewed with a scowl, but turned away to begin setting up the fire. Imellion watched as he made a nest of the kindling, shaving off pieces of bark with his dagger and taking twigs off larger branches. Jaxen placed several pieces of the cloth in the center and took out his flint and steel, soon striking the stone against the metal, scattering sparks against the small nest.
Imellion saw the sparks as shooting stars, stars that burned and fell to the ground below, fizzing out against the snow. But some landed on the small fire and Jaxen leaned forward, blowing gently until they hold of the tinder. Imellion leaned forward and blew gently as Jaxen arranged slightly larger twigs against the pile, watching as they caught and then placing larger sticks.

As the small flames began to flicker and grow, hungrily grabbing for more food, Imellion felt a warm tingle begin in her hands. She placed a larger branch atop the pile as the twigs began to burn. The rest of her body began to feel a faint warmth and she moved closer. Jaxen nodded and began setting the largest chunks of wood on the fire, which quickly grew into a full fire that radiated warmth and light. He set hunks of bread near the edge, on the stones, and scopped snow into a pot which he hung above the fire.

Imellion crouched at the edge of the stones, trying to hold on as tightly as possible to the warmth.

“Jaxen!” A voice snarled, “Get your girl away from here. We need to talk!”

Both Jaxen and Imellion turned in surprise as Krith approached, the stocky caravan captain’s face impassive. Imellion turned to Jaxen, who gave a slow nod and she stood and hurried into the darkness far enough away to be unable to hear what they said.

After the warmth of the fire, the night was even crueler beneath the branches that clawed the snow from the sky. She could just make out a quiet murmur of conversation, suddenly punctuated by explosive remarks from one man or the other.

The glow from the fire quickly faded and she shivered once more, hair whipping about her face in the wind. This was unusual. Krith rarely paid her enough attention to send her away, let alone acknowledge that she was there. She grabbed her necklace and clutched it tightly, mouth moving in a silent prayer whose words she couldn’t find. All she could do was watch as the moon and stars wheeled above in their own journeys.

She knew one thing though. Whatever would happen, would happen, regardless of what she did. She saw the figure of Krith stomp off and Jaxen rose to give her a quick back to the fire. Imellion hurried over, pausing at seeing his face.

Fear twisted in her gut as he gestured for her to take a seat. There was genuine sorrow in his eyes and he seemed so much older all of a sudden. He slumped back to take a seat, which Imellion echoed, still staring at him.

“What’s wrong?” She finally managed to croak out, noticing something glimmer in the corner of his eyes. Tears? Was he actually crying about something? A lump grew in her throat as possibilities ran through her mind. He shook his head and coughed to clear his throat, adjusting the bread and pot by the fire. He handed her a chunk of bread and added more snow to the pot.

“Yer to be sold in Sunberth,” He finally choked out, staring at the fire. “Highest bidder.”

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Cold Steel 'Neath A Cold Moon

Postby Imellion on March 2nd, 2016, 6:06 am

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Imellion sat back, black horror raging through her veins. Sold to the highest bidder? The half-torn chunk of bread fell from her grimy hand. Highest bidder. She remembered the other sales she had watched. Girls her age usually went to those who would pay the most to exploit their beauty. A brothel or lecherous individual, in that case. Maybe, if she was fortunate, a rich merchant would need a maid for his wife or daughter. That would be nice.

Jaxen continued to stare at the fire, poking it and adjusting coals to keep it going. Imellion had never seen him look so old or sorrowful. She picked up the chunk of bread again, tearing it absent-mindedly and devouring them without thinking, as she wrestled with her feelings.

The man had never been her father. He had been clear about that, having watched the others murder her father. She couldn’t even remember what her real father looked like, let alone her mother. There was nothing but snippets of memories, of feelings. Love and warmth, and the rich smell of turned soil. Farmers, Jaxen had said. That was her family. He was her guardian, with apparently some genuine affection for her. She moved closer. There were definitely tears in his eyes.

She finished the bread and checked the pot. All water by this point, so she added more snow to the pot, watching as it quickly dissolved. Jaxen stirred finally and stood, pulling out the food rations and slicing them into chunks to drop into the pot of heated water, along with some herbs she recognized from earlier foraging. Even some of the precious mint leaves. Her eyes widened in surprise. They had very little of that left and there would be no more until the snow melted. But perhaps, in this situation, an extra luxury would be worthwhile. He even pulled out a second pot and set more snow to melting, along with the rest of the mint leaves. Tea! The thought of the warm drink made her almost giddy. A smile pulled on her lips and she could already picture its rich taste, along with the crisp smell. Imellion almost clapped.

But then she remembered the situation and she set her hands down and cleared her throat, moving over to the baggage and pulling out their two mugs and bowls. Simple wooden things, worn smooth with so much use, but they carried memories. Some good, some bad.

“Jaxen,” Imellion began, trying to sort through the words and emotions. She resented him, feared him, but he was the only one to consistently stand by her against Krith and some of the others who thought to try and use her. “Whatever happens, I.. will survive.” That spark within, that she had felt earlier, came back. “I will survive and make the best of it all. I.. promise.” Jaxen scrutinized her, so Imellion continued, more confident now, “And then next time you see the city, come find me and I shall be a rich woman with power and silks to match the finest you have ever dreamed of.”

Jaxen cracked a smile beneath the beard and sat upright a little further.

“Will you now?” There was a lighter tone to his voice now. Strained, but she could there was some sincerity with it. She nodded and flipped her hair back as the food in the pot began to bubble. Jaxen looked at it and gave it a quick stir.

“Of course,” Imellion replied, mood faltering suddenly, given the sense of what lay before her. Slavery in Sunberth. She shuddered again, but not from the cold this this. The conversation faltered and they sat in silence, watching the gentle snowfall until the stew was finished.

Jaxen dished it out between the two of them, along with mugs of hot mint tea, with no sound but scattered conversation around them and the pop of logs in the fire. They sat like that, unsure of how to proceed.

Then foot-steps crunched in the snow, several of them, and Imellion hunched her shoulders from habit as they approached...

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Cold Steel 'Neath A Cold Moon

Postby Imellion on March 12th, 2016, 3:34 am

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Imellion hunched her shoulders farther as the footsteps finally stopped behind her, leaving the night silent save the popping of the firewood and the breathing of the men behind her. Jaxen half-stood across from her, hand going to his dagger as he chewed on a bone from the stew.

"What's this all about?" He asked, spitting the bone out into the snow as his own boots crunched on the snow. He rose fully now and grasped the hilt. A few other men drifted into the fire's circle and Imellion shivered, hunkering down further. One last sound of footsteps crunched through the night, echoing through the smoke and frozen breath that hung low above the ground. Metal clinked and Imellion felt nausea began to grow.

There was only one thing that could be. Manacles, probably for her. They could be for Jaxen if he resisted, but the men hated that. Putting each other into manacles was to reduce them to merchandise and they would never stand for that. Until tonight, even, that had applied even to her. Apparently no longer.

"The girl," Krith said, "She's merchandise now. Ye know the rules." He stood behind her now, looming over her like a dark shadow. Jaxen's face contorter, hideous in the fire-lit shadows, and the only sound was his dagger rasping as he pulled it from its scabbard.

"I let ye sell her, Krith," Jaxen's voice was low and hard, like the blade he held now in his hand. "But this I will not allow."

The chains clanked softly as Krith dropped them into the snow and pulled out his own blade.

"So be it, dogfilth." Both voices were low and hard now, edged with death she had heard so often.

Emotions churned through her. Fear and hatred and anger and fear again, but there was something else. A certainty about what she had to do. Not for herself, no, she was beyond doing anything for herself at this point. But Jaxen might still be spared. She swallowed the last of her tea and, as its warmth flooded through her body, she stood suddenly, standing between the two men.

They both dwarfed her, of course, by over a full head, and wrapped in such bulky clothes as they were. But still, she stood and turned to face Krith. Her face was impassive and still beneath the moonlight as her eyes caught the glint of the steel. She held up her hands, wrist together.

"I will go if you do not harm Jaxen." Even her voice was cold to her own ears and flat, like the blades that flashed around her. Everyone froze, staring at her in shock. Her hands trembled but she forced them still. "Put the chains on and escort me to one of the wagons."

"Imel, no!" Jaxen's voice called softly, and it tore at her, but she ignored it. He was her guardian here and as merchandise, she would need that protection even more. Imellion opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Her throat felt to thick.

Krith stared at her, eyes flat and analytic. Always that look, the look of evaluating in terms of profit. Ever the merchant he was, even in this case. Finally he knelt and lifted the manacles, never taking his eyes off her, even as he locked the cold metal around her wrists.

They burned at the touch with the cold and she caught a quick breath between her teeth before biting her lip, sending the hot pain through her face until she tasted blood.

Still there was silence, thicker than the moon and stars above, which held everyone in its thrall. Krith jerked his head and headed towards the wagons that held the other slaves. Other slaves. It was an odd thought for her to consider, as she had always been set apart from them in some way. But no longer.



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Cold Steel 'Neath A Cold Moon

Postby Imellion on March 12th, 2016, 7:11 am

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Tears stung at her eyes as she was escorted to the wagon, guards moving to unlock one and forced her up to the filthy interior. She was just glad it was winter and not high summer when such wagons stank to make her sick. Now it was tolerable.

She felt the straw beneath her feet, shifting and crackling, half-frozen as they were. In the darkness, she could barely make out the shapes of the others huddled against the most sheltered part of the wagon.

Imellion shivered slightly and crouched along the wall to slide towards them. Someone kicked her in the thigh, however, and she tumbled over in shock.

"Not so special after all, are ye?" A voice growled at her. A man's voice, older and tired. Bitter, even. "We don't want yer uppity kind."

She had seen so many of his kind pass through these wagons, often to death, but sometimes to buyers. She had tried to befriend them early on, thinking there was a chance one might be her father, not dead and come to rescue her, but that had ended years ago. Eventually they had driven her away and she had avoided them, confused about her conflicting status within the caravan.

This new rejection was the worst and she huddled alone against the wall, staring out the barred door to the silent wood beyond. The tears ran freely now and she broke into great heaving sobs that tore through her body and left her choking for air.

The others were silent sure, not sure how to respond to the sudden reaction. They had expected her to be prim and arrogant, the slaver's daughter who treated them with contempt. Not a sixteen year old girl crying alone in the darkness.

After a few moments, she grew quiet to a soft, choked breathing, tears frozen to her face. She leaned forward and rested her head on her knees.

"Oh Priskil," She muttered, "I will be strong." The words had not been exactly what she had meant to say, but they felt right. Not a prayer to help her be strong or for hope, but an affirmation that she would be.

She took a deep breath and held her head up high, shaking her hair free as she regained her composure. There would be no more sobbing or pity. Another deep breath as the tears threatened to flow again, but she held them in control.

What now were her options? Be sold quiet dignity and suffer whatever came to pass? Or escape? She tapped her knuckles on the floor. Her future as a slave filler her with an overwhelming flood with nauseating horror. Such a life would be her death. So escape was her only option.

There was a peace that such a concept brought to mind. Until she considered the practicalities, at least. She would starve over any extended amount of time and in this weather and freeze before that point. No, she would have to stand strong and survive here before making any escape attempts.

A low muttering from the other end of the wagon caught her attention. What about them? Could she lead them into the wild on her own? Possibly to their death, either through the elements or through the slavers, the closest thing she had ever had to a family, and their hunt to track them down? Only if they were willing.

The muttering quieted down as boots crunched outside. Imellion took a deep breath and pulled herself upright and turned to look at the door.


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Cold Steel 'Neath A Cold Moon

Postby Imellion on March 14th, 2016, 3:19 am

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It was Jaxen, shame-faced and staring down at his snow-dusted boots before looking at her through the bars of the door. Imellion shifted closer to the door, but bit her lip to keep her face from becoming too expressive. She refused to cry, especially not in front of him. The pain was already clearly evident on his face. A thought struck her. She would, in a sense, be the second daughter the man had lost. The first to disease and now her to Sunberth's slave markets. To make this worse? She shivered, but only half from cold. Her heart warmed and she gave him a smile.

"Sorry, Imel," Jaxen said after a moment, pausing to clear his throat, "Didn't want this."

"I'll survive," Imellion answered, putting on a small smile. "Don't worry for me." Her throat tightened again and she leaned forward, resting on the bars. They burned against her face but she ignored. "You have taught me to survive this. I will survive Sunberth." She cracked a bigger smile. "It'll be warmer there."

Jaxen forced himself to smile and kicked the snow, sending a dusting up into the moonlight.

"Aye, child. So you shall. I'll get you to Sunberth safely."

Imellion shook her head suddenly and lowered her voice.

"I'm escaping once we reache warmer climates," She glanced back at the slaves huddled behind her, "Possibly with the others."

Jaxen jerked back like she had attacked him and his eyes widened but he pulled his face back under control and moved closer to the wagon. He started to speak, but then stopped himself and shook his head.

"Tell me no more. I don't want to know."

Imellion's shoulders slumped, but she nodded and sat back from the door, then paused. Something in the night air had changed. She tilted her head to listen. Just a rustle of a breeze amid the surrounding foliage by the sound of it. Jaxen looked up and Imellion noticed his jaw tightening. Only then did she realize there was no wind.

Just a still clearing with the hard edged shadows and a burning snow. Then Imellion caught her breath as they stepped out of threes.

She couldn't count them, but they were magnificent, these mounted figures of metal. They ringed the forest, with the ones the edges leading their horses at a trot to the edge of the pond and wheel around to face the caravan.

Krith had risen to his feet and was shouting, voice hoarse. Imellion stared at him. Was he scared? She looked to Jaxen whose faced had gone sheet-white, whiter even than the snow. He gave a faint smile.

"I'm sorry," Jaxen said after a moment, pulling out his dagger, "But the Syliran knights have no mercy for slavers." He ran from the wagon to his pack and pulled up the axe he had used for the firewood. The other slavers were rushing back and forth, drawing up what weapons they had.

Imellion pitied them, as much as she feared and loathed them. The knights, if that's who they truly were, for she had only heard of them in hushed whispers of fear and hatred. Even some drunken boasts that she now saw were meaningless. Krith had managed to get them into a bit of a line with what longer weapons they had in the front. Not that it meant much.

The knights moved forward, tightening their wall and lowing lances or spears. Oh, how their armor gleamed, casting them in an ethereal light. Like figures of a dream, or descended from the stars were they. Clouds rose from their helmet visors and the nostrils of their horses.

Imellion felt her heart race at the sight, soaking in the memory of the silent glade. Then it all fell apart. One of the slavers threw a spear and it clattered against shield before falling to the snow.

There was silence, then a quick flurry of hand-motion that Imellion couldn't quite see and the line knights broke forward into a gallop, thundering through the snow so that a blizzard blew up from the ground from the charge.

"Jaxen!" Imellion screamed as the closest she had ever had to a father vanished within the cloud of thrown snow before vanishing beneath the blade of a sword whose silvery gleam, upon its return to sight, was darkened along the edge.

Imellion felt her world collapse, falling inwards and spiraling into darkness, but also a sense of relief. She was free now. Even the rest of the skirmish she watched numbly, watching as the men she had known for nearly her entire life were cut down.

Not a knight fell, or even as far as she could tell, sustained serious injuries. The caravan simply did not have the weapons or training to pierce the knight's armor. Imellion had no idea how much time had passed, as it seemed to have been frozen and yet moving so quickly.

Before she realized she was still breathing, it was over. The slavers all lay where they had fallen and the knights had begun to dismount to peruse through the camp and to the various wagons, breaking open the gates and letting the captives out to huddle around the now-smoldering fires.

When her own wagon had been opened, Imellion stepped out, manacles around her hands still clinking. The knight who had opened the door struck those off as well, causing her to flinch before finding herself next to a fire with a hot mug of broth.

She was free, they had said, but what did it mean to be free? What was she to do? A knight moved towards them and removed his visor, clearing his throat.

"We are members of the Syliran knights, seeking to restore peace, justice, and order to the world." He sheathed his sword. "And we do not allow for slavery. Therefore, you all are now free to do as you desire. If you wish to return home, we can provide you with some supplies and transportation. If you desire to go elsewhere, we can offer the same. In Syliras, we can offer you labor and housing. And those who are ill, we have healers with us, please consult with them while deciding."

Imellion sat down on a log of wood. Now what? Where would she go to live now? This had been the only home she had ever known and she had no true skills to make a living with. She frowned and rested her head on her chin.

That image flashed through her mind again, of the mounted warriors stepping out from the woods, phantoms beneath the night-sky, to protect those who couldn't. As she contemplated, her heart began to flutter and a small dream began to grow. Herself in such a suit of armor upon such magnificent horses.

She stood, suddenly dizzy, and made her way to the man who had spoken to them.

"Excuse me, ser," Imellion began quietly, and the knight turned to look at her. "Might.. I... join the Syliran knights?"

The man turned to look at her, considering, before slowly nodding, "Yes, I believe you may once we arrive in Syliras."

Imellion nodded gratefully let out a deep breath, eyes shining in the light. She had a future.

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Cold Steel 'Neath A Cold Moon

Postby Sayana on July 23rd, 2016, 11:36 am

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Don't forget to edit/delete your grade request. If there's anything I may have missed, please PM me and I'll be happy to look into it.


 
Imellion
Skills
  • Endurance: 5
  • Observation: 5
  • Wilderness Survival: 2
  • Prayer: 2
  • Rhetoric: 3
  • Storytelling: 1
  • Negotiation: 1
  • Planning: 2
  • Escape Artist: 1
Lores
  • Location: Priskil's Pond
  • Priskil's Pond feels like home
  • Wilderness Survival: Gathering firewood
  • Wilderness Survival: Arranging tinder and kindling so the smallest pieces catch first
  • Wilderness Survival: Blowing on sparks to get them to light
  • To be sold in Sunberth
  • Jaxen: Adoptive father/guardian within the caravan
  • Krith: Leader of the slaver caravan
  • Wilderness Survival: Heating snow for water
  • Mint tea; a small luxury for a slave
  • Accepting manacles to protect a guardian
  • Plans of escape
  • Syliran knights: Armoured and gleaming in the moonlight
  • Watching the death of Jaxen
  • Freed by the Syliran knights
  • Joining the Syliran Knighthood

Comments: Beautiful story. I really loved how you captured the trials of Imellion's position as a slave and then gave a true sense of wonder when the Syliran knights came. Plus, all the while keeping a brilliant theme of Priskil and Imellion's hope (starting with the location itself). Lovely work.

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Sayana
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