511 AV, Spring, day 28.
It wasn't much of an event, as far as Ravok went. Unspoiled slaves, freshly imported. Judging by the modest ship hunkered at port, bearing the name Liberty—a tasteless joke, at best—gilded across her starboard side in chipped paint, the slaves were native to Sylira. The captain, Horris "Sealgut" Turnwell of Ravok, renowned for his triple set of chins and notorious lack of ambition, only served to reinforce the assumption.
Even as the slaves emerged from the hull, stumbling down a narrow plank to the dock, they inspired less interest than neighboring, more mundane goods. A single glance provided sufficient information to any who cared to spare one; six slaves total, either human or closely resembling the race, all destined for hard labor, except, perhaps, the one female among them. Although she was poorly garbed and dirty, it was readily assumed she would be sold to a brothel of the Dark Plaza.
Swamped by an oppressive mob of hawkers, laborers, minor merchants, and civilians, Riel was not in a state of fear, but shock. When confronted with an utterly overwhelming situation, her reaction mirrored that of an average animal’s: her senses had stopped processing the environment, which—considering the circumstances—was fortunate. Huddled in the shadow of a deteriorating male slave, Riel did not smell the vile stench typical of concentrated populations, hear the bawdy language common to dock workers, or witness the defeated, despondent posture of her five slave mates.
The slave shading Riel stepped aside, causing a ray of sunlight to startle her from her ignorance. Glancing up, she was surprised to discover her sight commanded by a jumble of cheap silks and velvet, ranging from a deep magenta to an offensive violet, which did little to conceal the portliness of the man beneath. Reflexively, she averted her sable eyes and assumed a demure, servile posture.
“The kelvic, I presume?” The plump human queried in a lethargic voice. Riel assumed “Sealgut”, the captain responsible for her transportation, responded with a gesture, as no vocal reply was offered. Satisfied, the man returned his attention to the merchandise.
“I was informed your name is Riel. For now, the name will suffice. Follow me.” Unlike other slaves, Riel was not weighted with shackles; her frail stature and heavy clothing served as enough security in either form she chose. After the peacock exchanged a heavy purse of mizas with "Sealgut", she proceeded to trail after him, dodging humans and crates alike, even with her eyes riveted to the ground. If the city was as ostentatious as that man—bordering on tasteless when compared to Zeltiva fashion—she had no interest in ‘sight-seeing’.
