Completed Want to Turn Back? Feel Free.

[Melenna]

Out of Character Note: This is kind of my first IC thread, so if I've made some mistakes, I'm happy to edit!

60th of Spring, 513AV

It was always too cold. Even when it wasn't damp, even when there were blankets, the air managed to bite until she couldn't stop shivering. Part of it was due to the simple fact that the area wasn't as warm as Konti Island, but that had been months ago. Most of the goosebumps came from not knowing where she was or what would happen next—strange, since such was supposedly why people fled to Ravok in the first place. It was the black gem of the wilderness, a place so removed from the broken land that it didn't even touch the ground.

The sudden expanse of water should have comforted her, but the sight only brought unwelcome memories. Melpomene had repressed those thoughts so deeply that she saw only a dark and endless abyss, and that only made her feel colder. It was easy to feel alone and almost necessary, as those who came to care for one another were inevitably separated. Those around her stayed quiet, and she returned the favor, huddling against the nearest wall like all the others when a guard's shadow passed by.

She also neglected to keep time. Sunrises and sunsets blurred together in one long, slimy thread, passing through places uglier than she ever could have fathomed. It was bad enough to be kidnapped, to see her friends sold like cattle, but that was only where her misery began. Now that the traders were so close to the market, they found it necessary to re-examine their merchandise, stripping it down and poking fingers into its mouth to check if the teeth were still good. Melpomene was found fine despite some thinness and bruises, along with some scratches from fighting unwanted advances.

In some ways, being a Konti had lessened the sting. She had come to understand that she was something of a rarity, member to a race that was hardly seen and celebrated for its innate magic. That made her worth more, and it also meant that those who handled her had to be careful, so as not to hurt her value. Konti or not, no one would pay for a mangled and half-starved woman that couldn't even cook. So she got away with breaking skin when someone tried to nuzzle her neck, and even got to live after attempting to escape by jumping overboard.

But that was about where the benefits ended. The intensity of her emotions—the loneliness, the loss, the fear—only fed her sense for inner music, amplifying what was already too sad and too loud. It didn't help that her Sight was being difficult along with it, dragging her into the past of companions she wanted nothing to do with. When she tried to sleep, her mind took her out of her body, wandering and probing. She saw fragments of life before slavery, visions of peaceful coastal homes and bickering families. And when she was less fortunate, her Vision would peer into her captors, where she found what became of many of their victims, including her own friends.

Never before had the Konti known such hatred, and never had she been so broken. It wasn't the rough handling, not even the removal from her home that hurt the most, but the perfect violation of it all. She had once been a glistening artist of the White Isle, bathed in rose water and praised for her unique gift with music; now she was an object of greed and pleasure, a doll to be examined or shoved aside at whim. Her voice meant nothing, delicate hands and wrists roughened by bonds and the grating of constant travel. If she protested, she was slapped aside or gagged, and when she tried to fight, she was simply locked up again with reduced rations.

Melpomene had begun to regard the mark on her hand with morbid complacency, trapped in a mind that could only hear tones of despair. Maybe life would be better when someone claimed her, and maybe it wouldn't, but joy came in knowing that the reign of the traders would eventually end. There wasn't one among them that she didn't despise, and she certainly wouldn't miss the rough hands and foul stench. The one thing she had never heard romanticized about men was their smell.

So as the Konti laid on a simple cloth mat, she dreamed of better masters. The thought of her accepting such a fate had once been disgusting—what wasn't degrading about imagining her talents, her gentle hands caressing the body of some stranger rather than her own instruments? But after endless weeks of being bound and dragged and bound again, hard reality had settled in. There were really only two options for one like her, the miscreant that didn't have the strength to fight: either she would die by disobedience or live in servitude. There would be no savior to the rescue, no pride that could return what had already been lost.

Perhaps that was why her mind was so quiet that night. A dark peace had settled over her, the spirit of rebellion sated. She lay on her back, surrounded by her fellow resting slaves, in an enclave that apparently belonged to the traders. It was much like camping on a well tended lawn, save that it was pavement and dusted with grime. The area was dominated by a large wooden building, black even in the daylight and two stories high. It shared the enclosure with another building, and the space between both was fenced off with high iron bars. She couldn't tell if they were in a particularly rich or poor area of town, but she had overheard that it was open for a very specific reason: buyers got to have a peek at the merchandise before it was taken to be sold. Some even made bets.

The new moon above made things darker that night, deepening the shadows. A slight touch of rain had pushed most of the slaves to the walls where the roof offered limited shelter, and those that couldn't find room resorted to using their sleeping mats as makeshift tents. It almost made a run to the fence look easy, empty of obstacles and a path to freedom for the bold. But one needed only to look up to see the men keeping watch, most armed with bows. None of the traders had to tell the Konti what would happen if she gave them opportunity for practice.

But that night she also felt something different. Because it was their first night back in Ravok, most of the men had been drinking and partying. She had felt it in the vigor of their song, in the slur of words that rang with lyrics of beer and women. The aftereffect was a weary pulse to the beat of their thoughts, and some were so soft that she knew they were asleep. And as soon as that realization came, so did a nauseating sense of excitement. Anger and desperation sleeping in her heart jolted awake, popping her eyes open and dragging her legs closer to her chest.

I'm going to do it... I'm really going to do it. With painfully slow movements, Melpomene sat up, nudging herself deeper into the shadow of the wall. A full minute of repressed breathing passed before she dared to move again, starting to crawl closer to the fence. Her eyes remained trained on the silhouettes of guards, whose heads dipped against the black sky. By the time her hand actually closed around the metal of the fence, however, she was shaking so hard she could barely move. The only sound was the silence of night and the gentlest murmurs of conversation from above.

But she actually had to climb it. She was still wearing the tattered remains of a dress, and her hands were bound by ropes—perhaps it was a little too impossible after all. But the mere thought of impossible made her grit her teeth. She had to at least try! So the Konti jumped, taking hold of a horizontal bar that ran across the top of the fence. There was immediate pain, as she soon found that the top had been reinforced with hidden barbs to prevent exactly what she was doing. Melpomene bit her lip as blood slicked her grip, but by some miracle, she managed not to let go. She tucked one of the bars between her legs and pushed herself up, up until she was able to swing herself over the fence.

Trouble met her on the other side. Screaming nerves broke her concentration, and she slipped. Her body hardly made a noise as she fell, but the breath was knocked out of her as her back hit the ground. She lay there a moment, frozen with agony as pain shot up her spine and into her legs, but then she rolled herself over and managed to stand. It was at that moment when she looked back to the other slaves, unsure who she felt more sorry for, but there wasn't time to ponder. She turned her back and fled as fast as her body allow, wrestling with her ropes the whole way. The wet blood provided just enough lubrication to slip her hands out, but not before making her hands feel like they were grasping glass shards. Eyes teared up, teeth breaking the flesh of her lip, but there was no sound other than her feet.

At the nearest canal dock, she dipped her hands into the water, then tearing at the skirt of her dress to form some makeshift bandages. As it turned out, the dash to water saved her from a passing sentry, whose torchlight passed over her as she pressed against the low stair leading to water. When the coast was clear again and the bleeding stopped, she continued to flee aimlessly, finally resting against the wall of some establishment spouting smoke from its chimney. Where to go next she didn't know, but she was drunk with a desperate kind of exhilaration. She was free!

[Delos]

OOC: Very discriptive, I wouldn't mind dropping a post here. Also make sure to time stamp the post so people know when this thread is taking place.

Ravok nights were always a rather... interesting time to be walking the city streets. This was especially true for Delos as the city always seemed much bigger when one was only four inches tall. The small man of clay found that nights were often the safest time for him to walk the city streets without having to pay someone to carry him. Since there were fewer people he ran less of a risk of some unattentive human accidently stepping on him, which was always nice.

It was something of a paradox that in this city of shadows and secrets that night was the time that he considered safe. Such was his life lately, a large bundle of paradoxes. Ah well, at least it was rather nice tonight.

The small Pycon was making his way to a small tavern that was not too far from his house, the owner knew him well enough and was a friendly enough sort. Often the man had some clay that he saved for the Pycon in exchange for some silvers and a tale or two. It was nice that he was developing something of a routine, it made him feel less like a fish out of water.

Delos had only been in Ravok for about a year and had only attained citizenship in the latter part of the last winter. As such there was still much about the city that he was learning about, where he should go and who he should talk to. It was all a learning experiance, but then he enjoyed learning so it usually was not a problem.

Finally after much walking he came to the establishment he sought, a nice and quant little tavern nestled between two houses. However something, or rather someone caught his attention. Sitting against the wall of the tavern was a rather attractive young woman who looked very much worse for wear. Her hands were covered in bloody rags and her dress was ripped and torn. Her face seemed to have some form of disbelief written across it, like she could believe something had occured.

Being the naturally curious creature that he was Delos approached to woman slowly. As he drew closer he felt that uneasy feel that he usually got when getting to close to members of the larger races. She was huge, her hand was probably bigger than his whole body. It was alway something the young scholar managed to marvel at to this day, that such massive creatures could exist.

Still he did want to see if she needed help, she was wounded after all.

"Um, excuse me miss, are you alright?" Delos asked as gently as he could, his tone as refined as ever and his words articulate.

[Melenna]

The adrenaline was easing away, and so were her wits. When a voice piped up from out of nowhere, it received little more than widened eyes whose head lolled from side to side in an attempt to find it. Surprise was not something she welcomed in that moment, as the unpleasant jerk to reality was enough to make bile rise in her throat. Certainly, her body was weak and her reactions were dull, but inside that beaten body was a bag of bleeding nerves.

“Wha...who—uah!” Melpomene's head snapped up, knees angling themselves away from the small creature. She tried to scoot backwards, but pressing her hand to the pavement only sent a spasm of pain through her arm that made her gasp and press the back of her hands to her chest. She stared at the figure the size of a doll for at least a full five minutes before rational thought found her again. Must be dreaming... but it shouldn't hurt so much! The slavers never would have let her damage her hands in such a way.

Rather than answering the simple question Delos had offered, she simply groaned and leaned her head back against the stone wall. Dream or no, if she could be found by wandering... dolls, whatever the town's militia was composed of could find her, too. Logic told her to move, but reality informed her that her calves were already jelly from her bout of sprinting, and she'd lost more blood than she thought from the gouges in her hands. Her already ruined dress was morbidly patterned by the hot fluid, which bled out into cloudy blossoms where it had stained her skirt and bodice.

And little was left of the dress to begin with. She could still remember the slavers arguing when she was first imprisoned on their ship—the cell keeper had wanted to take the gown and split the profit from it before it was ruined, but the captain had insisted that she not be pilfered. Clothing, even such flimsy material as silk, would protect the skin and help retain moisture to keep her scales from peeling. “And besides,” he had said, “it'll still add to the base profit. Some might even like the look.”

So she had been allowed the dignity of clothing, but even that was only temporary. Not only did the crew insist on “examinations,” but the wear of travel itself had taken its toll. The hem was all but gone, natural tears running wide and rampantly. There were holes in the bodice, generous tears where there had once been delicate folds, and the only reason the straps around her neck hadn't snapped was because they were reinforced with linen. It left plenty of petticoat to show through, but even then, there were places where blue and stained white revealed stark ivory skin.

A slight stir of wind broke Melpomene out of her self pitying stupor, and she forced herself to look down again. The mini-man was still standing there, albeit a bit nervously, and she felt a morbid bout of laughter come on. It shook her chest but barely drifted past her lips, too hollow and cracked to hold any real humor. He was such a neatly dressed little fellow—even in the diminished light of stars and faint candles from windows, it was easy to make out robes. And his voice only made it all the more comical, so polite with the air of gentle pride in every word. If there was a perfect tangible opposite to what she felt like at the moment, it would be him. But even in some foreign city where she was a ragged slave, she wasn't small enough to disappear.

“Does it matter what I am?” The Konti finally spoke, a mess of filthy bangs falling over her face as she turned her head just enough to look at the creature directly. “Whatever it is, it's well beyond help.”

[Delos]

Delos was not one for making assumptions when it came to meeting people, however he was one for making observations. The key difference between the two forms of information was that one was wholly factual, the other only partly. The fact of the matter was that this woman looked like rather lost and alone, something that did not exactly sit well with Delos.

The little Pycon had seen that look of dispair on many faces in this city, usually on slaves. Ever since arriving Ravok, Delos had seen many things done to other sentient beings that struck him as being wrong, witn enslavement being at the top of the list. Whether this woman was a slave or not was really not Delos' concern nor did he particularly care at the moment. At the moment getting some much needed warm food in her looked more pressing.

It was rare that anything overrode the scholar's curiousity, however if anything could it was his morals, and his morals told him that leaving a woman wounded in the street was wrong. The little man drew a little closer to the ivory skinned woman and as he got a closer look at her he nearly fell over in shock. The ivory skin, the nearly hidden scales, this woman looked to fit the discription he'd read of a Konti.

His curiousity immeditately almost overwhelmed his morals, he had so many questions for her, the young scholar had never met a Konti before now. He managed to push it down and instead drew even closer, close enough to where he could have reached out and touched her. Delos looked up at the woman.

"You are not beyond help dear woman. Why don't you help me inside the tavern behind you and I'll buy you some much needed food and drink. You may just find that I am sympathetic to your... plight." The little scholar said, his voice determined and steady.

[Melenna]

Melpomene's eyes narrowed softly at the small man. While the tangled hair mussed over one eye didn't help her vision, her other senses were still awake. It was hard not to notice—the song she felt was very different from what she had known since her capture. Sometimes the notes of a song came from the heart rather than actual melodies in the mind; when that happened, it was usually just a pulse, a beat that spoke little more than intensity. But when someone felt strongly about something, when the heart was set firmly upon a single emotion, there was music. It spoke what words could not, conveyed melodies with a depth that could capture almost any emotion. To a trained musician, it was both an invaluable and insufferable gift, striking her own inner thoughts and emotions whether she wanted the music to or not.

In the case of the Pycon, it was soothing while being somewhat amusing. His words already conveyed a sense of pity—it was the music, the slow and deep tones that affirmed the determined sincerity. That brought more than a few questions to her own mind, as she didn't know that such creatures existed, but if she could hear him so clearly, it couldn't have been an apparition or a trick. She couldn't hear the songs from dead or inanimate things. So she found herself smiling dully, marveling at the bizarre nature of the situation. Who'd have thought that her savior would be less than a foot tall?

It was impossible to make out anything else about the creature, as the evening light was already poor, and he was dwarfed in her shadow. She couldn't hear him breathe, couldn't make out any scents beyond the filth of her own body, but her imagination could do wonders. Her mind filled in the gaps, picturing the smooth face of a gentleman with soft, fine little clothes. He had an almost aristocratic tone, so lacking in nervousness and proportion. What she didn't guess was that he might be made out of clay, thinking him almost as some sort of imp or fae due to the size.

“If you really want that kind of trouble... who am I to stop you?” The Konti's voice was raspy after so much running, but it was a warm sound. In truth, she wasn't sure if she could even walk after so short a rest, but the little creature had a point—even if she was immediately recognized as a runaway, it would at least be more comfortable to await the guards in a warm seat. As she gingerly set one hand against the wall to balance herself enough to stand, her mind sought a myriad of lies, some way to delay suspicion. The binding on her hand concealed the mark for the moment, so she could claim to have been robbed and beaten, or simply taken advantage of in some dark alley. A Konti likely wouldn't be assumed to be a citizen and given proper attention for such an attack, but at least that didn't make her a runaway.

After testing the strength of her legs, Melpomene pushed herself off the ground and onto her feet, groaning again as the burn of sore muscles rippled all the way up to her hip. With one hand still on the wall, she stooped down to offer a hand to the thing—it appeared to move just fine on its own. If the small man accepted the invitation, he'd find himself on a hand that was less than steady, but resolved. Most of the blood and grime had been washed away from the fingers, but there was still no small amount of grit in her nails, and the makeshift bandages around her palm were heavily stained. Were he brave enough for that, she'd cradle him between her neck and shoulder, slowly making her way to the tavern's entrance. What would await her inside? All she knew was that it couldn't be worse than a slave pen.

[Delos]

Delos craned his head up at the Konti as she stood with some effort. That something so beautiful had been forced to endure such injuries seemed a crime. Then again many things he had witnessed within this city seemed like crimes to him, slavery and torture being chief among them. Too many people, who were hardened by a rather cruel and unforgiving regime.

The Pycon shook his head at such thoughts, he might not like it but he was one being, a being that stood at four inches tall. There was very little difference he could make to this system. Hopefully though, he could make a difference in this woman's life. It was a small thing in the grander scheme of the world perhaps, but then it was rather approprate for someone like him.

The giant Konti lowered her hand, a platform for him to step on which he accepted with only the slightest hesitation. It alway seemed to require some deal of trust in the person picking him up when he did this, it was alway unnerving to know that a careless slip could send him tumbling to the ground. The hold she had was less than stead but considering her condition it was not exactly surprising.

"Take a seat at whatever table is free, miss, and wave over a bar maid, I'll take care of the rest." Delos said as the Konti cradled him between her neck and shoulder.

Hopefully this would go smoothly, if not... well he would think of something. Delos was nothing if not creative with his solutions.

[Melenna]

He was heavier than he looked. It didn't make him more difficult to carry, but it did surprise her. How something roughly the size of a hairpin could pay for a meal she didn't know, but it spoke so sensibly, so gently that she couldn't find a reason not to do as it said. No, what made her nervous was the idea of walking into society again. Certainly, she'd seen enough of human cruelty, so she didn't expect a quiet hall filled with harp music and the scent of seasoned fish, but it seemed ages since she had held even basic conversation with another being. To ask for food and drink from someone that wasn't a bearded captive? It felt strange.

But she steeled herself and walked into the tavern anyways, using her free hand to shield her eyes from the sudden light of lamps and a fireplace. She had thought that, due to the late hour, hardly anyone would be about, but was unpleasantly surprised. The tavern wasn't full, but it certainly wasn't empty, buzzing with chatter and the clunking of mugs. It wasn't a dingy place, either, sporting polished pine floors and smooth plaster walls. One one side of the establishment, there was a long bar with barrels and bottles sitting across form it, and on the other side, numerous tables had been spread out with a large fireplace casting hues of red and orange all over them. Between the two sitting arrangements, there at the opposite end from the entrance, was another door, which presumably led to a kitchen.

That was just where the details began. In her time as a captive, Melpomene had never been exposed to more humane establishments upon the mainland. She found the sight of green tablecloths tasteful, the elegant curve of painted wall lamps peaceful, and for a moment—just the smallest one—she felt that humans might not be the bane of Mizahar. After all, a people that could apply the slightest touch of art, of civility in such a wild world were surely worthy of admiration.

At the time, however, the Konti had no interest in pondering mankind's work. She tried to locate the darkest corner, some spot where the lantern’s candle was dim, and found such a place at the back of the tavern. As she moved, she met the gaze of none, following along the wall to avoid the tables. Without requiring a thought, her free hand moved to her dress, picking up the skirt to avoid catching it on anything on the floor. She was still dreadfully tired, but even her lifeless shuffle across the floor held something elegant, something strange. The arch of her walk was too poised, the curve of her hand too delicate. Worst of all were the scales, oily and gritty in the flickering light, but reflecting the tones of fire with pearly luminescence.

If she caught the eyes of any, she didn't see. All around her were the tones of the humans—not just their voices, but their music. There was a calm beat in the air, accompanied by the deep and satisfied notes of a woodwind. It made her relax a little as she pulled out one of the wooden chairs for herself, then lowering her hand from its place at her chest to allow her benefactor to step down safely on the table. When that was accomplished, she did as he bid—more or less. Waving seemed so... coarse and conspicuous. She simply watched one of the waitresses until she caught her eye, and when the woman didn't immediately understand, she sighed and gestured to the table.

Melpomene looked back down to the strange little fellow, shrugging. “I leave the rest to you.”

[Delos]

The tiny man of clay waited until the young woman came over to the table before taking the small pack off of his back. Part of his size problem was that he was very limited in his budget, only being able to fit five gold mizas in his tiny pack at any given time. Luckily the amount would be more than sufficiant for paying for his new companion's meal.

Delos pulled two gold mizas from his pack and layed them out in the table for the young woman to take.

"I would like you to fetch a good meal and some water for my friend here, she has had something of a rough day." The Pycon said, gesturing to his companion.

The young woman nodded and hurried away to carry out his order. Delos returned his attention back to the Konti sitting at the table, his curiosity burning now. He needed answers now. Normally he wasn't one for prying personal information from people but, if he was going to be of any help to the woman he needed to know what was wrong with her.

He decided to keep his voice low when he adressed the woman next. Better safe than sorry and it would probably put her more at ease if she thought he was being careful.

"Now then, I am not normally one for these kinds of questions, but I feel as if I have to clear something up. Are you an escaped slave?" Delos asked, looking up at her seriously.

OOC Reciept: -2 GM

[Melenna]

Mirth shone in the Konti's pale eyes—it just seemed ironic that a tiny little man should receive so polite and prompt a response from the waiter. His manners were certainly refined enough to win respect, but he wasn't at all a fellow human, and perhaps just as tall as her index finger. On the other hand, here was she, the goddess-touched musician of Konti Island, and all she had earned was a curious, if pitiable, glance from the waitress. No longer did she have a single copper miza to her name, and even her freedom wasn't her own. Everything depended on what the Pycon did next, what the people of the tavern did next, for she was in no position to run, much less fight.

That mirth faded when the small man asked his question. She sighed, looking down at him with something between a pleading gaze and insulted stare. Of course it's obvious, she thought with a frown. How much would a lie really do for her? Even if she could render an authority complacent with her sad state and tales of woe, all he had to do was unwrap the bandage to find the half sun branded on her skin. And that would be assuming that he didn't find her close proximity to the slave traders suspicious, that he would be willing to imagine that her worn clothes and grubby skin were the results of attackers, not the wear of slavers. It wasn't a safe bet, to be sure.

Melpomene could thus think of no reason to lie to her new “friend.” He already had the chance to expose her—all he had to do was see her and run to the nearest human to inform them of a slave on the loose. But instead, he insisted on feeding her with his own coin. Perhaps she owed it to him even if he wasn't aware of the truth; she'd already heard of what happened to slave sympathizers. As sad as her own fate was, it truly would be even worse to bring it upon another innocent being.

So she clasped her hands and leaned in closer, a gloomy smile on her face. “Isn't it obvious? I don't dare to ask anything of you—according to the law, I have engaged in a grievous sin. Confess it for me if you will, or give me a moment of decency sitting among humans as their equal; it is up to you.”

[Delos]

Delos shook his head sadly, it was about the answer he had expected but it was still a sad thing that a creature as beautiful as her was being forced into servitude. This information left him at something of an impass, one that was potentially dangerous. He could turn her in, it was the most logical choice and the safest one for the small Pycon. Considering that he was non human he was already looked down upon by most in the city, no pun intended. Helping a fugitive slave would be very dangerous for anyone, a high theft crime that bore a steep sentance. For him is could be potentially deadly, even given his employer.

It was the most logical descision but one that did not sit right with him, so he tossed it out immediately. If Delos turned her in he would be no better than the slavers. That left two other options, leave her to her own devices or help her. The first one also did not sit right with him as leaving a wounded woman on her own was distasteful to him. Which left the last option, helping her.

He shook himself from his thoughts as the barmaid returned with a platter of warm food and a cup of water. The woman placed it down, smiling at the Pycon pleasently.

"Is there anything else you need?" She asked.

Delos shook his head, "No, thank you my dear, you have been most helpful," he responded, taking out another gold miza for the woman to take.

The woman inclined her head graciously and hurried away to tend to another table. Delos returned his attention back to the Konti looming over the table. He gestured to the plate with a broad sweep of his arm.

"Eat your fill, my dear, I suspect you are hungry and I need to think anyway. Also, you needn't worry about me turning you in, I want to help you if I can." He said soothingly.

Now then how was he going to handle this...

OOC Reciept: -1 GM