Closed [Ruby Majalenka] Howl into the white moon

The tale of a daring escape (No continuation)

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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.

[Ruby Majalenka] Howl into the white moon

Postby Clemens Kos on December 31st, 2014, 12:03 am

2nd of Winter, 511.

The sound of chains rustling against a wooden cart finally died off. Over the pass few hours, the entourage of around ten slavers, six horses, two carts and five in chain cladded slaves were moving through the marked roads coming from Eventide. With the armored and armed slavers wielding torches and swords, the trip was awefully save. The amount of noise they made, and the intimidating factor of the sheer number made it good to travel in. The slavers were positioned around, in pairs, talking and joking about every day things, and swearing about the fact they didn't do as much as they wanted to in the previous outpost. It was around that time when the stars began to show, when the party decided to stop and rest. The horses carrying many burdens were tied down and given water and wheat, and from what seemed to be nothing tents were erected. The party of ten seemed well versed in their routine, as everybody knew what they were doing, and who to listen to. A bigger tent for the boss of the operation, and then it got progressively more smaller and crowded. The five slaves that were dragged with didn't however get such luxury. Each and every one of them was wearing a simple linen set, with a thick wool cloak around them so they wouldn't freeze. Their 'tent' was more of a rug being held together by a pole, but at least it protected them against the wind. At least a bit, if nothing else. The slavers' built up a fire and sat around, sending patrols out to scan the area, and keep an eye on those pesky slaves so they wouldn't run off. Three of them were send with a slaver to go gather fire-food, and the remaining two helped finish building up the tent, and then prepare food. The good food that wasn't for them, however. The slavers got just enough to have enough strentgh to carry on forward, but that was about it. Peeling those potatoes and cleaning the meat was the closest thing to a feast the poor sods got.

"Hurry up!" One of the slavers roared out, as he caught the tallest of the two cooking looking around. The one with the odd haircut, and missing pinky finger. The one none of the slavers wanted around, but kept simply because he was good for manual labor. 'Good' of course is a severe understatement. They'd replace him in a moment's notice, but all the good find gets sold. So they're left with the leftovers like Clemens. Despite his rugged and rebelic appereance, however, the boy in his late teens shuddered at the violent voice. He knew what would happen if he displeased the 'owners'. They were no strangers to violence. So he did. He sped up the action of peeling the potato, to a degree he actually cut himself across the thumb. A subtle hiss escaped his lips, as he wipped the little blood that appeared into his cloak. He tried not to let the slavers see.

Be it as it is, the rest of the group quickly re-joined the temporary camp that was elected, and after the dinner the five slaves were send to their tent. Mouths muffed, hands and legs tied down, the five of them looked like poor worms. The slavers threw a blanket over them to prevent them from freezing, before returning to the core of the camp, where they began to patron and set up watches. Some stayed up, and some went to sleep so they could switch out in the middle of the night. In the smallest tent, however, many different sounds emitted. From moaning and sobbing, to stomach growling or violent twitching. That was all normal for young Clemens. He watched and understood more than most of them. Being around the longest, he was the only one not to squirm around. Lying on his side, head facing the wall of the tent. He didn't want to hear the odd sounds behind and around him, or the occasional kick or shove into his little private bubble. That bubble bursted a while ago, when one of the slavers felt too bored and lonely. He closed his eyes and imagined the pain go away. The weight of the chains and the cold weather weren't that important in his mind. A save haven he found after that one outburst where he lost a finger and an ear. He at least acted much more relaxed and obediant, which in return waranted less violence directed towards him.

His eye lids were heavy, but he wasn't at all tired. He was tired of this life, however. The constant moving, touching, bargaining, sweat and tears. He wanted to fall asleep. At least that gave him a few hours of peace and happiness. So he lied his head on the ground and released a sigh. The laughter and singing of the slavers outside didn't bother him for a long while, anymore. And one by one, even the whimpers and groans in his little tent stopped. 'They'll get tired of me. Then I'll get released. I'll go back home.' He thought to himself. Lied to himself, just to help him fall asleep. The human needed his dreams. While sleeping, or walking.
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Clemens Kos
Posts: 114
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Joined roleplay: December 25th, 2014, 4:12 pm
Location: Syliras
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