The Ground You Break (private)

[Denn Liobhan]

Denn loved life with a quiet, deeper passion than most people of this world. As a healer, she fought death at every turn, unwilling to give up on a patient until it was far too late. As a traveler, she had seen many things, wondrous and terrible things, and abominations committed against her person that would have turned the strongest soldier pale. Throughout it all or maybe because of it, Denn looked on each new day as a gift from the gods, to be cherished and never... ever.... thrown away.

But when Daust held the large knife in front of her face, for the briefest of moments, she thought on giving up that life. It would be so easy... If the bandit brought that blade to her throat or chest.... all I would have to do is lurch forward. Denn's eyes fluttered as she stared at that blade, the metal reflecting in the setting sun. It was those thoughts -- of the ultimate escape from a life doomed to pain and misery -- that distracted the woman so that she never saw Daust's fist coming until it was too late.

Her head exploded, snapping to the side with the force of the impact. Noise and pain blasted her senses, and Denn's knees buckled to the dusty road. Unable to see, to even know which way was forward, the world spun for the poor woman, her mind confused about what had just happened. Wrists yanked forward, Denn was dragged along for a pace or two until she managed to stagger to her feet. Falling heavily against Taig's side, the pony side-stepped against the weight, thinking Denn wanted him to move over. Eyes and nose watering, the healer sniffed wetly and regained her balance, glancing fearfully over at Daust. He seemed unaffected by her reproachful, hurt look, continuing the steady, even walk down the road.

For a time, Denn walked along in silence, feeling her ear swell, the skin hot, her head aching. Daust's sudden violence following by his cold indifference confused her; she had never met anyone this matter-of-fact in their cruelty before in her life. Half-afraid to open her mouth again, she knew if she was to have any hope of escaping the fate of slavery before reaching Sunberth, she had to get the man to see her as a person, a living breathing human being and not as chattel or merchandise. And to do that, she had to make a some sort of connection.

Denn coughed a time or two before finding her voice. "You.... you're of the Drykas," she began hesitantly. "You have windmarks. Why are you so far from your clan?" Thinking he may not like her intrusive question, the woman hastily replied, "I am originally from Zeltiva, well, mostly from there."

[Daust Greywind]

Daust walked easily, a mixture of thoughts swirling about his mind. It felt good to knock a bit more of the fight of the woman, but she still continued to talk. "I don't know what you're talking about and I don't care where you're from." He was obviously growing irritated with her, his tone of voice turning irate. However, he wasn't to the point where he was to turn around and actually use the knife on her.

Trying to sell a cut-up woman as a slave probably wouldn't work well, but that's not what he had on his mind when she was asking questions. Really, he didn't know much about the Drykas, and if he'd really been apart of any clan, he didn't remember any of it. Indeed, he was curious, but wondering about such things only brought him odd headaches.

Though he'd yet to shank Denn for her inquisitive nature, he wasn't sure about what to do with the rest of her things. The herbs he had no idea how to sell or even use and the pony wasn't great for much either. It could carry packs of supplies much like a mule, but wasn't sturdy enough to also hold a rider as well for an extended amount of time. He found it doubtful he'd get much money for it, as it wasn't the best of finds.

However, Denn seemed somewhat knowledgeable and healthy, and while she wasn't some beauty, she wasn't ugly, which is what Daust figured many slavers would look for when viewing a female slave. No thought was paid to what Denn would have to endure as a slave, but it was simply because Daust held no compassion for others. If Denn was cattle, she'd at least take less of a beating from the archer.

But, if the woman wanted to continue talking... "Wonder what you'll be as a slave. Maybe a cook, if you're lucky? I can think of far more active roles for you to take, especially here in Sunberth... Perhaps in a brothel?" Daust's tone was if he was about to give a chuckle, but no laughing followed.

[Denn Liobhan]

What little hope Denn had of coming out of this terrible situation was shattered with those last words from Daust. Her legs moved, continuing to propel forwards aided by the tug of the rope on her wrists, but the woman's mind had frozen. In all her life, she had never imagined anyone as cruel as this, to treat another's life with such callousness, such complete disregard for decency, morality or compassion. The enormity of what had happened, of what was about to happen crushed Denn's spirit into mute submission. Any plans she had of befriending the bandit dissolved.

How will I endure this? she thought in hopelessness, and as often she had done in the past when despair was at its greatest, Denn turned to her faith. Falling back on tradition and that which was ethereal, she silently began reciting the Evening Songs to Caiyha over and over, trying to focus on the beauty of the words and the peacefulness they tried to invoke. Only a modicum of calm followed but she clung to it as a lifeline to sanity.

Daust walked them well into the night and possibly would have kept going til morning but the road grew rocky and the pony began to stumble. Only a quarter-moon lit their way, covering everything in the palest of blues, shadow blending into shadow. Finally they drew to a halt, the rope tying Denn yanked to the side, retied to something on Daust -- his wrist or armor, she suspected. For those few hours whilst she tried to sleep, the smallest movement from her brought an answering hard painful yank on the rope.

The next day, they were moving before the sun crept the horizon. Taig wasn't happy, yanking on the lead, wanting his morning grass. Daust didn't allow either the woman or the pony to eat, and only a swallow of water before pushing on. The man seemed to have a sixth sense about things; whenever Denn felt she could no longer be silent and prepared to speak, he turned that ravaged face of his to her, the cold green eyes promising retribution. Weakened and exhausted from a night of fitful sleep, the healer dully repeated the Dawn Chants, the Litany of the Forest, and four times through the Rak'keli's Healer's Creed -- all twenty-seven verses -- inside her head, not realizing a time or two that a hum or word escaped her lips.

It was near midday when a rattle sounded over the hill to the east in the direction they were traveling, only that much warning before a heavy merchant's wagon crested the road, followed by two more. In the unhurried manner meant to save horseflesh but eat up distance, the wagons drew a steady pace along the road, directly toward them. Taig's ears pricked forward, as did Denn's flagging attention. Her breath quickened.... maybe here would be help at last! She wet her dried lips, attention on the dark figure of the first driver, preparing to shout.

[Daust Greywind]

Daust slept as well as he usually did, which wasn't well at all. It didn't help that he had to keep his attention on the woman during the night, lest she try to do something foolish. But mostly it was because of the strange stirrings in his head. They couldn't be thoughts, he didn't think them. They couldn't be whispers, they weren't spoken. And they could not be desires, because the urge felt so alien. Something felt apart from him, and everytime he tried to focus on it, everything just got hazy.

He knew the woman had nothing to do with this, he couldn't ever remember being completely right in the head. Was he one of those lunatics who knew they were insane or was he only skimming the surface? Perhaps he was already locked away in a cell, dreaming up fantastic thoughts and people, summoning very real feeling. The returning warmth from the rising sun did nothing to secure his thoughts. There was no way of telling if he was living in a dream world or actually sane, and so he did what was easiest, he played along. He didn't think himself perceptive enough to figure himself out, especially not when everything felt so twisted all of the time.

Thankfully, it only took a few meaningful looks at the healer to keep her silent for the trip. It was only until the sound of wheels reached his ears that Daust wondered what would happen if he happened to run into any 'do-gooders' before he reached Sunberth. As the cart crested the road, Daust gave a quick look to Denn, seeing her preparing to shout. The cart driver could likely see them, so giving the healer a discouraging hook to the jaw was probably out of the question.

Daust only tapped one of the dagger sheathed at his side with an idle finger, glancing from Denn to the approaching caravan. Would she really be responsible for their deaths if she called for aid? Daust knew he'd probably die if he fought a caravan full of opponents, but his options were limited. In the best of cases, he'd not have to deal with them at all, and in the worst he could be overpowered and tossed in a cell to rot, which was indeed worse than being out-right killed. Perhaps if Daust had any thoughts to compassion, he would've wondered how his the fate of decomposing in a dank cell was similar to the fate he would be giving to Denn. Of course, that wasn't the case.

[Denn Liobhan]

Needle-like prickles ran across Denn's skin as fear and adrenaline flooded her senses. When the first wagon drew alongside them, she broke out in a light sweat. Fingers gripping tightly to the rope she was tied with, Denn jerked her head as Daust caught her eyes, drawing her attention to his knife. For a moment, she was frozen with indecision.

By his actions, Daust was either letting her know that there would be serious consequences if she made a fuss, or he wouldn't hesitate to attack the wagoneers if they came to her aid -- or both. Could he really be that tough? From his appearance, Daust looked very disreputable, a raggedly man, as if he didn't have two coins to his name. Good fighters could always make an excellent living in Syliras -- whether legally or otherwise -- and therefore her only conclusion was that he wasn't very good. Sure, he could threaten her, a defenseless small woman but how would he be in a fight against three grown men?

But if the fight should turn ugly, Denn hated to think of the others in danger; the guilt would be tremendous. There was also the likelihood that these men would just laugh at her cries for help and ride on. Then Daust would eke out his vengeance on herself and she shivered at that thought. But in the end, fatigue, hunger and hopelessness for what lay ahead made the decision for her. In truth, this may be the last chance she ever had to set herself free.

"Help!" she cried suddenly, the shrillness ringing in her ears. At the same time, Denn pushed hard against Taig's flank, making the pony dance nervously to the side, bumping into Daust's side. "This man is.... he's DANGEROUS and taking me against my will! I am no slave -- I am a freewoman, a healer from Zeltiva! Please HELP!" Hoping against hope that the men would believe her, for Denn's speech was clipped and obviously of a more educated upbringing, the woman looked frantically between the three men, watching for a reaction.