7th Bell- 29th of Autumn - Slaver's Row
Slaver’s row stirred reluctantly as it felt the warmth of the autumn sun that had burst through the fragile horizon, casting a shower of brilliant colours across the flawless sky, forging a medley of reds, oranges and even blues throughout. The streets glistened as the warm light danced along the cold dew that clung to any weeds that had forced their way through the trodden stone pathways of this bleak neighbourhood, bathing it in an orange glow. The city felt the closing grip of winter on its streets and wasn’t ready to embrace it, the sun reminded the city of warm days but the frosty air that hung around them made it clear they were long gone.
Warren walked the streets alone, taking comfort in a lit, smoking pipe that was clenched firmly between his yellowed teeth. His hands were balled up, deep within his coat’s pockets as he headed to work for his daily crust. “Y’alright there Warren?”, A voice called out as another set of footsteps joined his own and hurried alongside him. Warren titled his head curiously at the source of this company before turning back to the path, his curiosity sated. It was just Eric, one of Warren’s many co-workers. A tall, lanky man he was; a half foot taller then Warren with tightly curled copper hair and small strawberry strawberry nose with freckles splattered all across it. It was rumoured he had a feisty red-headed beauty for a sister who worked for Brega and her endless whores, that Nikali had spent so much time moulding her that she had to cobble to Eric at the last moment. Of course it was also said Eric slipped a blade between the ribs of any man who talked about his sister’s looks so Warren, a rather reluctant conversationalist at the best of times, never broached the subject with him.
“Mornin’ Eric”, Warren replied, rather monotonously before sucking on the tip of pipe, relishing the hot sour smoke that flooded his mouth, savouring it, before releasing into the fresh morning air in a long plume.
“I hear word abouts the place that ol’ Chubs found himself half of a dozen new slaves in Tent City. Course, I also hears that he charmed his way out of a date with ol’ Dira, he’s got a way with his words that’s for sure”, Warren found the long drawl that was Eric’s voice tiresome, but Warren at least liked the fact that he filled any conversation between them.
“Uh-huh”, He replied blankly.
“Still, I won’t weep none for those thieves in Tent City. One of them seers cheated me out of three day’s wages, got me all befuddled with those tarot cards then had some runts cut my purse while she told me I was gonna come into misfortune soon”.
“Yeah, won’t hear me cryin’ for ‘em”, Warren replied truthfully, recalling the number of times he been held up at knifepoint by some Tent City stray.
“Yep, don’t waste ‘em on them no-godders and their- Well, what do the Gods think is goin’ in here then?”, Warren looked up at the change in Eric’s tone as they turned a corner that lead into the very heart of Slaver’s row. A large crowd had gathered around one of the main pens that held the herd of slaves back, peering at something clearly interesting as the crowd buzzed, talking eagerly amongst themselves. “Those new slaves must be mighty interesting attract this many buyers”, Eric reasoned but Warren had his doubts.
“Nah, these don’t look like merchants”, He said, eyeing up too many skinny frames and frayed clothes “Something ain’t right here”.
The two men forced their way to the front of the crowd, ducking and weaving, or pushing if stubborn Sunberthian crowd refused to budge. As a young lad who had seen no more than ten winters swore loudly at Warren as he was shoved to the floor, the two mean stumbled to the front of gaping crowd and silence hung heavily between them for a moment as Warren’s mouth fell open, his pipe clattering to the floor in a chaotic cloud of ash and embers. Finally Eric spoke.
“We need to find the boss. Now.”
