OOCAfter a month, the three of us have decided to continue on without Ivandra for now. Ivandra, when you come back, feel free to jump back in, but we want to continue moving forward with the RP.
Not for the first time, Isalie was surprised to hesitant silence, when the poisoner wonders over and sits beside her, making himself comfortable amidst the rats. First, and foremost, as she was only just beginning to get a sense of self preservation, since meeting Matthew, she was worried that Ninus was not paying enough attention to the other two. What if something explodes? Though she knew something of poisons themselves, Isalie knew nothing of poison making, and didn't know if anything would explode if it were mixed with another substance. She doesn't voice her fear, however, glancing briefly over at the undead and the not-quite human creatures standing not far away from herself and Ninus.
Se hears the man speak to her and instantly she relaxes; she didn't have to pay him a penny, that was what he was telling her, or at least that was what she thought he was telling her. Either way, the young woman realises that there is no harm in sharing a short tale with three people she would quite likely never meet again. She mulls the man's question over in her mind, trying to decide what she should regale her most unusual audience with. Given the circumstances of the meeting, as well as the dynamic of people in the gathering, she imagined that not much of her life would disturb them, so she had free reign.
She continues to grind the cherry stones, the anger that rises up from her past fuels her on slightly. Eventually, she chooses a moment, a moment that defined her personality before it had been fully formed. "I must have been eight or nine," the runaway slave begins quietly, though she could tell from their stances that the two women where listening in too, so she speaks loud enough for the, to hear too, "When I first became a slave, when actual money was exchanged and I became someone's property. Imagine, if you will, amidst a normal market, like the one we all met in, people are selling other people. They are lined up, chained up, some barely covered, in the midday blistering heat. There I was, an orphan who had been wandering around, begging, on the block, for sale. And what a sale I must have been: filthy, malnourished, uneducated, immature. I hadn't even bled for the first time; who would want to own that?" Her question is obviously rhetorical, but it gives the listeners something to think on.
"One of the slavers had previously walked around and inspected us all..." she shudders, "He had inspected every last crevice. It was his his job, he would tell us just after taking some of the older girls, to check that his merchandise was... fully functional." She pauses, to look down at her mortar. Truth be told, she was lost in her own tale. "I was chained and terrified; doing nothing to help the slavers sell me, but some man comes along and thinks I'm worth something. I was lucky, though; I spoke the Myrian tongue, unlike most other slaves there. It meant that my obedience was expected, and given, quickly."
Isalie glances up, looking around the room to Ivandra, then Isolde, and finally to Ninus, an apologetic expression in her eyes. No one had ever asked to share a tale to with them; she didn't know how to, and so had most likely done a terrible job of narrating why this day had been cemented in her mind, beside the obvious. The young woman had a whole lifetime of tales most people could only have nightmares of; she could have shared beatings, the night she stole her horse and rode to freedom, her travels to Syliras, learning of poisons, anything, and she chose to tell them that, once, she had been sold, and she hadn't even embellished it a little.
"Hindsight is a beautiful thing, I've always thought," her words were quiet, as if she was talking to herself rather than to those listening, though her words were meant for them. "It is against the law to own a slave in Syliras, which is one of the reasons I first decided to remain here. But... Look at me." the words come out as a command as she. Herself, looks down at her own body, "I was kept well as a slave. I was something, and I had a future. Now? I am nothing." She'd said the same thing to the prostitute and her words meant as much then as they did now. "But, worse than being nothing, I'm a starving nothing..." She turns back to Ninus, it was, after all, his payment, and she doubted whether that satisfied him. "I'm sorry, maybe you should tell me what you want a tale of... I'm new to all of this."
