[Eastern Dock] The Arrival

[Colt]

45th of winter, 515 a.v.
early morning

Shahar didn’t quite sleep anymore. There were no dreams, no sudden opening of eyes to find that there was a new day. He was never truly asleep, and so he was never truly awake. Time passed by in a blurry continuum of dozing, waking and waiting for anything to break the endless rocking of the ship that was their only way to mark the time, because by now the days held little meaning.

They had rattled at the bars and dropped into the hold, grabbing any and all who looked strong enough to put one foot in front of the other. Men, women, children; a small handful of anyone who could walk, dragged forcefully onto the topdeck where they were bound and marched into boats and set into the water.

It was still too early for light, although the barest hints of grey could be seen on the eastern horizon. The sky remained a blue-black swathe of night and stars, and would remain so for some time until Syna hauled herself above the skyline and brought a new day with her. Shahar couldn’t see where they were going, knowing only the rough feeling of salted wood through his clothes and the spray of water against his skin when the ocean decided to give a particularly emphatic kick.

But still, there were things to be heard. The nighttime, which was supposed to be quiet and tranquil, was loud. Not on the sea, but ahead of them. The dinghy he had been unceremoniously dumped into was heading straight towards a veritable orchestra of noise; insects, birds, frogs, other sounds he had never heard before, all joined together in a mad cacophony of voices that didn’t seem to care that it was still dark and therefore a logical time to be quiet.

And it was hot. Through the haze of scurvy, he could feel it sticking to his skin. Heated. Humid. Air as thick as water. It made no sense. Was it not winter? Was he going mad, or had they spent so long on the boat that it was now summer? He vaguely tried to imagine what things must look like back home, but couldn’t pierce through the haze of hunger, weariness and disease. Where was Naiya? How big were the twins? Were they talking yet? Who did the hunting? Where would Tuka go? Would she hunt by herself?

The boats ground ashore and the captives were yanked out and thrown onto the beach. The pirates were talking, but Shahar couldn’t hear them clearly. “Myrians,” he could pick, along with “sell” and “mizas.”

“Up!” one of them shouted, hauling up those who couldn’t steadily reach their own feet. “Walk!”

Without being able to see what was in front of him, Shahar was pushed forward. The noise of an unfamiliar land crashed in from all sides, and he couldn’t see any of the animals to ask questions; all he could know for certain was the feel of the sand under his barely-shod feet, which quickly turned to soft, wet earth as the beach gave way to something very, very different. Something heavy. Something huge. Something filled with life.

“The jungle,” someone whispered.

[Erikal]

Erikal fell forward, attempting to outstretch his hands before him to break the fall and protect his face. But he could not for they were bound by rope and thus he hit the ground hard, absorbing the brunt of the pain on his shoulder. Erikal winced and let out a tired groan, turning over onto his back. The ground felt strange. So unlike the grassy plains of his homeland. The earth here was springy and covered in roots that caused the ground to hump and twist upward into tall shapes he soon realized were trees. Many many trees. The towering sentinels were inky black shapes linked by copious vines. "Caiyha?"

His surroundings launched upwards as strong hands caught him roughly by the binding and hauled him to his feet. "Quiet slave. Savages are in these jungles mate," said a broad pirate with a nose that looked like it had been broken a dozen times and a ragged scar that traveled from left cheek, lip, to end in a nasty gap along his jawline. He leaned in close to Erikal so that his mouth nearly touched his, a sick smile upon his swarthy face. "I wager you'll bring a handsome sum indeed. Pretty lad like yourself. Now get moving petcher!" Erikal was roughly launched forward so that he nearly ran into the Drykas man ahead of him. He had almost mistaken the man to be Shahar at first, nearly as burly and tall. But when he had turned to peer into the jungles, the contour of his face was not that of his friend.

They had been separated purposely by someone. Erikal knew it had to be the cruel man known as Fish. Somehow he had gotten wind of their plans to jump he and his mates the next time they brought food. Shahar and he had devised a plan to break out of the brig only to see it thwarted by the bastard of a man. They had come at night, taking them unawares. In the sudden chaos, Erikal had no time to find his friend. The next thing he knew, he was in a small rowboat headed for land. That had been the only happy sight he could remember for some time. Land. Anything was better than the constant motion and the stink of that ship, he thought. But now upon seeing this new and strange land that was not the Sea of Grass, he wasn't entirely sure....

Ixzo. A strange woman he had only met briefly in Endyrkas was ushered to his thoughts by the odd terrain and the hushed whispers of savages and Myrians. She had lived in a place like this, he remembered. A place where she had lost love. Remembering the woman made him want to smile through the pain in his feet. She was so wild and...different. He wished she was here. He wished he could find Shahar. He wished he would awaken from this nightmare to find he still had a father.

.

[Oliver Cleff]

Stepping off the ship Oliver would seem to be no worse for wear, besides a few bruises and extra scratches. However, the redheaded male would be rather sound compared to the other slaves. As he was more use to being on the open seas Oliver would not have any hint of seasickness compared to his new "peers". Stepping out of the boat and onto shore Oliver would take every chance to antagonize the slavers as they shoved him along. "Hey, hey. Not so fast I want to talk to fishy-poo. Come here Fishy, Fishy." The male would shout with a grin on his face.

Suddenly, Oliver would be cut off shortly after his teasing as a slaver would tug on the chain attached to Oliver restraints, throwing the male face first onto the ground. "Bloody hell!" Oliver would utter in a pained and loud tone of his native language. Which was a rather distressed and loud whistle followed by a distinct click of the tongue. While some would believe it as a bird it had a human sound to it, sticking out from the norm and not sounding like any animal that inhabited the area. This could quite well lead to curious natives checking out the area for the source of the sound.

It was clear the slavers noticed this as Fish would give a gruff snarl as he stared daggers at Oliver, who was just now standing up and continuing to speak, this time in common. "What was that for-" Again Oliver would be cut short, however this time it would be by Fish himself. "STOP, you blabbering idiot. You're going to get us all killed making that much noise." He would scald Oliver with a very serious voice, his glare not falling until he was on land.

Knowing better Oliver would decide to listen this time. Keeping to himself as he the man walked over to the group of slavers and slaves. Leading the group from the back as they began to move through the woods in a somewhat orderly fashion as the slaves remained mostly quiet and even the slavers did nothing more than exchange a few quiet whispers. These jungles were unforgiving and the slavers themselves knew this. While they weren't sure what exactly it was they were avoiding they knew there was always something to be wary about in this place and would do just that.

[Colt]

“Shahar.” It was barely more than a ragged whisper, but it was his name, and he heard it. A woman, brown-haired haired and vaguely familiar.

“Kyla?” Shahar whispered back.

He didn’t know how she had managed to find him in the confusion, or what luck had seen them thrown on the same boat, but she was here––and she was barely standing. Her son, Kai, was attached firmly to her side, and she had her hand on his shoulder as if he were a crutch. Her left leg dragged behind her, useless; Shahar couldn’t smell it anymore in the throng of moving, sickly bodies, but he remembered the scent of infection. Without care, what had once been no more than a small cut on her ankle had grown into something black and rotten; it was no wonder she couldn’t walk on it. Her son helped replace it, although she did her best to keep from putting too much weight on him; he was just as sick with scurvy as the rest of them, but he was trying hard to help his mother walk.

One of the pirates driving them shouted something and shoved three of the stragglers to go faster––including Kyla and her son. She fell forward and reached out for the Dawnwhisper to break her fall, and for once his hatred of touch disappeared; he stepped back and caught her by the waist, half-carrying, half-dragging her onward to keep up with the rest of the march. So long as they kept moving, the pirates didn’t seem to care what was going on.

Shahar was stronger than her five-year-old son, and so he became her new support; Kyla wrapped an arm around his shoulder and managed to get her good foot under her again. She could hop half of the way, and use him as a spare leg for the other half; scurvy had made Shahar weak, yes, but it had also made Kyla very light. He could endure this until they reached wherever it was the pirates were taking them.

And then, suddenly, the pirates called for a halt. The captives were yanked into obedience if they didn’t understand, and there was an uneasiness rippling through the pirates. Something was wrong.

Common words were traded, a collection of “Wait, hear, they, too close, shoreline, Myrian.” Something was in the jungle ahead, something that the pirates did not like at all.

“Peace!” shouted one of the larger pirates, stepping away from the crowd and towards the trees. “Trade! Slaves! Gift!” He spoke to the jungle as if there was someone inside. Were they being watched? Shahar couldn’t tell through the haze of scurvy.

But he knew the sound of an arrow well enough.

The shouting pirate was cut off as something whistled through the air and thudded into his throat, throwing him to the ground with a wet gurgle. A shrill, terrifying whoop of war erupted from the trees, and then chaos broke loose.