Quest 50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

[Haeli]

It was the way of things, always, in Kenash, that the Dynasty members pushed and pushed their entitlement and had no true idea of how they sounded to someone outside of their circles. Haeli understood circles and which she was part of and which she was not. Her dislike of the Dynasts was a tightly leashed emotion that she dealt with daily. It was part of the privilege of living in Kenash proper and owning a business rather than dwelling like a wild thing in the swamp. She’d been in both situations, having been raised all but feral in the Gyvaka Swamp and city living was preferable so long as she could venture into the wilds at any time. Here in Kenash she could do that. So she put up with the demands, the lack of please and thank you, and the overall tone of the more wealthy affluent members of the society here.

Their attitudes had little effect on her anyhow at the end of the day.

When they banged on her door, she pointedly ignored the slave. Haeli would have cared had the woman not had the hollow eyed gaunt look of a broken human who knew nothing more than the whips and chains of slavery. She didn’t feel sorry for the woman and she didn’t hate the men for her treatment. They were only men, ignorant and slaves in their own way to the whims of their society. Though they were better fed and well dressed, they were no less trapped in the circle they were in than the slave who trailed them.

She listened quietly to the words the men gave her, skipping over the more fancy vernacular involving the exact date and time of their oh so important decree. Such formality was lost on her and only made her eyebrow raise. She’d answered the door barefoot with tasseled hair and a smudge of dirt across her face. She’d been hard at work in her inner sanctum transplanting seedlings who were ready to go outside.

She caught the gist though, making heavy mental notes. Seven days. Work for the Magistrate. Payment. Bring Roric.

Haeli didn’t bother to tell them she couldn’t read. She didn’t bother to do anything but crumple up the notice. She could have corrected them that Roric was free and was not a slave, but these were just errand boys and of no importance.

So instead she made ready, noted that in that particular time and day she’d need to be ready. And she was, awaiting transportation that had been defined not at all. A small bag was packed containing survival supplies, a machete, and food enough for both of them. She also brought along herbals that might help in whatever they might be involved in. She was no healer, but she could stop loose bowels or help blood flow cease from a wound with her herbs. Her other skills were far more valuable and far more hidden, but she’d bring them along anyhow.

The message hadn’t said where or when, only on that seventh day she would be taken - transportation would be provided - so she was ready that day well before dawn with Roric at her side.

[Roric]

At the time of their visit, Roric had been at Haeli’s side in the inner sanctum. He trotted up from behind to investigate the source of the banging. It was not often they received anything but business on their tiny isle. But this was business too, in its own deplorable way. The wolf sat back on his haunches and listened, head cocked to the side as the slave and her owners sounded the edict. They were to go somewhere at a certain time, in order to work for some person he’d barely even heard of. The Magistrate. Some foolhardy notion, that one man should control the actions of all living things, when all were equal in the eyes of nature and death.

They mentioned that he was a slave. To that, he bared his teeth, with a snarl so low only Haeli would hear. Because he had not yet declared himself with a brand, he was not considered free in this place. In the end, that too made him a slave. The need to take on a human label for the benefit of others was nothing he’d ever see as valid. But Haeli had made fair points to that end and wherever she went, he would surely go. He stared at the interlopers, eyes hard as agates until they made to depart.

On the day they were to go, he too would be ready, though as ever he brought nothing more than his skin. Roric was still deadly, in his own way. Instead he spent most of his time helping Haeli pack her things and urging her to play and hunt a little, while they were still able.

He would never admit it, but he was afraid. Not of death, nor of being captured… But being separated from her.

[Prophet]

57th of Spring
5th Bell 30th Chime

The Traveler’s Complex was a strange site. Lately, the bustling center had been cordoned off with tarps and grunts with sticks and sour expressions. There was certainly something going on and the only way to find out was to be invited (or forced) inside. There was simply one problem with that; those who entered never came out. Wagons rolled in an out of town all day long but they were all covered and heavily guarded. Not even the nosey kids who ran around unsupervised had been able to discover any information.

Once inside, there was the opposite of chaos as one might expect. The Magistrate had tasked enough men and whips and asskissers to the place that everything was running smoothly. There were dozens of wagons, horses and over a hundred people of many races moving about in neat lines and fine rows. On the far west, off by themselves, was a line of wagons that seemed like the rest but closer inspection would reveal better hardward on the wheels and axels as well as less guards but plenty of footmen who were loading trunks of finery and alcohol. This is where the Dynasty folks were being loaded. They had the best horses and the wagons were actually carriages that were outfitted to look like all of the other wagons. It was a ploy to keep the Rujaro from targeting the massive migration and singling out the rich folk. It was four passengers to a coach and the seats would be almost as lavish as the chilled beverages and shock-absorbing springs mounted under the frames. There was even a small space set aside for a privy in each carriage.

In the middle was a huge mess of guards, chains and silent anguish. The majority of bodies were concentrated around these few wagons where slaves were being piled in on top of one another and chained to the bars which were covered by the same tarps that were draped over the fancy coaches which were to support the spoiled elite. The wheels and axels on these wagons were splintered, barely shaped and poorly assembled. It was almost hard to identify which was worse; the number of people piled onto each other or the frailty of the wagons. Talking and arguing was discouraged with promises of having food and water privileges revoked. The few wayward and disorderly ones were being pulled aside, stripped and beaten for all to see. Those who cause problems were going to be examples of not once or twice but constantly. There was one slave who was certainly dead but he was still being bashed with clubs and boots. The sounds of the violence were no longer thumps but sickening thuds followed suction created by the visceral material resisting being pulled apart.

Down near the east side was another group of people. These were the specially made transports for the Freeborns. It was just average. The wagons were sturdy but not nice or fancy. There was going to be some room but not enough for anyone to really stretch out. The tarps were framed up with plywood and down each side of the wagon was a solid wood bench. Gear and packs were stowed beneath the benches and the bodies were packed in just enough so that each pothole was sure to create some kind of pile-up. On the bright side, there was a water barrel on each wagon as well as metal bearings on every wheel. The guards looked more like the question-answering kind than the beat-a-dead-body-for-effect sort.

People coming in the entrance were quickly sifted by Magistrate goons by brands and the escorts with which they arrived. No slaves were being permitted to travel with their owners regardless of dynasty or freeborn. It was a well-oiled machine that belied the true nature of the venture. For the entire day they would travel. The freeborn wagons would stop every five or six bells to allow people to run into the bushes for a bathroom break. There was something relaxing about the steady pace for most people though some freeborns who lean towards claustrophobia or have sensitive noses would certainly feel like the chimes had turned bells. Of course, they would have no idea what the slaves were going through…who would want to? Syna rose and fell on the wagons and Leth was halfway up into the sky before the wagons came to a halt in one giant line. The serpentine convoy was resting on the edge of a field where there were shouts, cries and the cracks of whips echoing through the night. No one is allowed to leave their wagons and are simply told to sleep. Morning will bring answers but from the sounds outside there would be plenty who were already rethinking their decision to join such a venture.

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad's arse had been bounced senseless over a season of caravan duty from Sunberth to Kenash. Riding the horse he'd claimed not long before he'd arrived had, alas, not been much of an improvement. He'd got sores and bunions of patches of flesh he didn't even know could develop them. So, an afternoon of jerking, trembling passage with this convoy wasn't much of a hardship.

The not knowing, now... that was harder to bear. Force or not, when Konrad had been summoned in the past, he knew what his goal was. Mainly something bloody and fell with a purse of gold waiting at the end of it. That night, with Leth winking on them, cold and remote as the mercy of the whip-bearers still snarling among the slaves, he had no such enlightenment.

The convoy stopped and Konrad looked around. Naught but fields made silver by Leth. More cries of pain, more bellows and threats, more cracks and wet, sharp sounds of leather meeting flesh. But nothing more. The word came down for them to sleep, and there was no time for him to growl a question.

Instead he huffed and looked around at his companions. No-one her recognized, though that hardly surprised him. He'd barely been in Kenash ten days before this mess had been forced into his hands; not much time to meet with anyone but the Radacke stooge that hired him, and some other... less memorable encounters.

A man. A few women. He'd had his fill of watching them as they rode up there, digesting the same, muted looks of fear, pity and revulsion he usually saw when anyone new saw his face for the first time. His crossbow sat across his knees, restless hands caressing it... but there was no use. No call. No purpose.

Konrad hated that.

The sellsword waited a little longer and no more words were spoken, so he decided to take the messenger up on his advice. He scooched down in his seat, low enough that some bastard Rooj-Ar-Oh wouldn't be able to pick him off with an arrow of a bolt as he slept, and shifted the brim of his hat to cover his eyes.

"Morning will bring answers". Those had been the words their guards had spoken. Konrad closed his eyes and wished sleep and time to claim him and speed by in equal measure. Death, life or mizas, he just wanted to know what the hells he was doing out there.

[Firenze]

Sitting on the dirty floor didn’t bother Firenze. Nor did the sweaty bodies rubbing against her own as they bounced along the road in the sweltering hot, canvas covered wagon. No, what bothered her the most were the raw spots she was starting to get on her exposed skin from the sand, dirt and splintery wood grating against it. She didn’t have the room to move and the spot she’d chosen had bits of gravel that were digging into her backside.

While they traveled she mostly watched the hole near the flap on the backside where a little bit of sunshine peaked through the heavy cover. It would appear as though it were winking as it jostled. Even though the sun was bright and she could even catch the birds singing merrily in the surrounding trees outside she had this darkness in her heart.

It wasn’t something that she wanted to grow. It started as a small spot when she’d been taken from Zeltiva, a place that she’d hoped to call her home, and left behind everything that she’d owned. It grew again when she was again taken from Syliras just as she was beginning to plan the trip back to the city by the sea.

As her mind wandered, her thin body jostled, sweat rolled down her cheeks, and the wagon carried them closer to a destination that was unbeknownst to her. With steady breathing and hard concentration Fire tried to keep her mind from thinking about where their destination might be and what might lie ahead. Not only in her near future but those that were packed in around her.

It did intrigue her that not only had they brought slaves but others, some were mildly dressed, in clothing that was akin to what she might wear. While others were dressed very fancy, their clothes nigh pristine, save for the dirt that clung to the bottom of the cloth from the dirt road.

As she reminisced of the fine dresses and fine things that were in the wardrobe of her home in Zeltiva she was jerked from thought as the wagons came to a hard halt. Eyes flicked up to the hole near the opening. It appeared as though Syna had settled for the day as only a trickle of moonlight filtered in and the claustrophobic area had lost its luminosity. If she turned to look at the others more than likely most would be cast in shadow.

The flap was ripped open and a cool night breeze could be felt against the moisture on her skin. It gave a very brief relief before the barking of orders came. They were not to speak or they would lose provisions. Of course Firenze didn’t have to be told twice. Truth be told she was unsure if she had the energy, or want, to speak. Heavy lids watched the gruff man pull out and pass off the bodies of those who’d still had the fire left in them to say something. Those that had were heard through the thick canvas by only their screams and cries, accompanied with the cracking of whips.

As the rest of the group sat in their never ending silence stale chunks of bread and pails of rather smelly buckets of water were passed around. Fire grabbed greedily for one of the pieces and bit into it roughly. It hurt her dry lips as the sharp crust cut into the fragile skin. Trying not to pay it mind she weighed the option of taking a drink of the communal water supply or not. The bread hadn't helped her already dry mouth, so she gave in, knowing that her body needed the resource to keep itself going.

Once her growling stomach worked to settle, churning painfully as it tried to digest the harsh meal, she tried to shift and find a more comfortable position. As the bread in her stomach soaked the sips of water, giving the feeling of fullness and taking the hunger pains away slowly, the push of sleep began to creep over her. Firenze pulled her legs against her body, laid her head on top of her knees and let the darkness from behind her closed lids seep in as she was pulled into a dreamless slumber.

Others | Firenze | Thoughts

[Achenar]

It wasn't that Achenar wasn't one to complain, but he did so silently, in the sanctuary of his thoughts. That was truly the only way he could cope, but even his mind could become a weapon, whispering insidious thoughts that crept up like a monster in the night. This was his place, they'd remind him. At the feet of his masters.

And yet there was still some shred of yearning deep inside him to live beyond the chains, even when most of his defiance was beaten out of him. He was settled on the floor of the wagon with the rest of the pitiful slaves that had been corralled like cattle. It was stuffy, the air thick with the scent of the unwashed, and he was pressed in by all sides, though, thankfully, he was near the edge of the wagon, where the flap occasionally bounced to let in the breeze from the outside. He resigned himself to staring idly at nothing. He might have once cared for the suffering of his fellow slaves, but he did so no longer. The ethaefal heard cries, whimperings and prayers of salvation, but he knew none would come. The gods turned a blind eye to them, and they always would.

His loose linen garments aided little with the heat that permeated the rolling, bumpy wagon. Sweat dripped down his brow and soaked into his tunic. It was almost difficult to breathe with how utterly stuffed it was and on few occasions, he turned his head toward the flap and tried to get as much gulps of fresh air as he could. With what little light shone through, he could see the sun slowly fall to give way to Leth's realm. He could feel the transformation tremble in his bones. Leth's flesh was not a respite, even as the hunger pangs slowly diminished and the color of his flesh melted into the opalescent hues of the moon. There were eyes on him, more eyes than he'd ever cared to count; staring as the glassy horns grew from his temple and his visage transformed into a regal statue.

When what little rations were passed around the group of slaves, he refused, simply by virtue of not being hungry in the moment. His mind was elsewhere, and he wanted to forget he was here, disposed of. The thought made Achenar's fingers tense. But if they were going to their deaths, why would they bother with rations? He passed a cursory glance over the bowed heads beside him. No one he recognized, and judging by the damage that had been done to the unruly slaves, if he spoke out of turn, his status as an ethaefal wouldn't matter to these people.

With the order to sleep, the slaves immediately shifted into what comfortable positions they could within the overstuffed wagon. Sleep did not come easily for Achenar, as he was a creature of the night, but he rested his head against the chipped and rotting side panel of the wagon and closed his eyes for one last respite.

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[Verena Lorak]

Verena was swiftly ushered into a carriage, her question unanswered. Inside, the Lorak immediately recognized Tanith Sitai, the herbalist she had worked with earlier that season. She started to wonder if there was some sort of incident that would require an herbalist and a doctor. The details of this journey was especially vague and it was a bit worrying. Without a word, Verena settled down on her seat and let her bag rest gently on the floor. There were two other Dynasts in the carriage with them and they both nodded to her.

When the carriage started to move, Verena busied herself with her inventory, shifting through it and rearranging it. The closed-space and proximity to so many strangers made her uncomfortable and the last thing she wanted to do was getting roped into a conversation.

Their journey stretched into unbearable bells. Every time the carriages stopped, the young healer would insist being let out. It gave her a brief reprieve from the other people. With each stop, Verena realized that they were getting further and further away from Kenash. She had never left her home this way before. It felt a bit disconcerting, but thrilling at the same time. The Lorak’s world had been so limited, so small. She wondered what it would be like if she could just travel on and never came back.

At some point, the steady swaying of the carriage and the soft murmurs of small talk had lulled her to sleep. She slept fitfully, as always, and woke up with a start. Hastily, the Lorak wiped away the perspiration that had gathered on her face and straightened in her seat. The carriage seemed to have stopped. Someone announced that they would be resting for the night. Immediately, the voice was followed by the familiar cries of pain and orders and whips.

That was enough to give the healer purpose. Carrying her back, Verena inched toward the door. The least she could do was offer some salves and tinctures, perhaps even clean some wound. She had enough rest already and she feared if she had to do nothing, she would go mad.

Just as she tried to exit the carriage, a guard stepped in front of her. “Apologies, my lady, but I have to insist that you stay inside for your own safety.”

“I will not go far,” she replied swiftly as she tried to go pass him.

This time, the guard’s hand shot out to stop her. “I am sorry, my lady. It is not a request. Please return to your seat.”

Verena eyed the man coolly. He bore no mark, so he might be a Dynast or a hired mercenary. There was no way she could go pass him and even if she did find a way, he could easily drag her inside. With a sigh, the Lorak relented and returned to her seat, avoiding the looks her fellow dynasts gave her. Trying to shut out the cries from her mind, the healer opened her back only to rearrange her belongings yet again.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Valerius didn’t like the way he was being treated at all. He had half a mind to just leave that cursed swamp and go back to Ravok or see about teaching at the University of Zeltiva after all. Whatever it was they were doing, it was ill coordinated and badly thought out. If he had been put in charge of this operation, he would not have forced people to participate, but persuaded them to do so and promised them rewards that they might never get. Unwilling participants, he knew from experience, often didn’t make much of an effort.

At least they had arranged for a means of transport rather than forcing everybody to walk. He appreciated the whips as well, as long as they would not be used on him. He actually stopped for a moment to observe how the slaves were being loaded into their wagons, nearly on top of each other. That was a rather effective way to get as many of them to their destination with as few wagons as possible, although the wagons themselves didn’t look to be in prime condition. He’d have used better ones, out of fear that the slaves would be damaged if a wagon fell apart.

He could see that the people in charge were looking at him a certain way though, and he knew better than to question them. He entered one of the wagons that were reserved for Freeborn, silently thinking that they should have placed him with the Dynasts instead. His family held a similar amount of power in Ravok after all and were just as rich as some of the dynasties in Kenash. They would come to regret their mistake soon enough.

He chose a spot next to the entrance as he didn’t want to be squeezed between two ugly and smelly people and put his pack under the bench. He didn’t even dare to look at the single water barrel that had been provided for the passengers. It was likely full of dirt and other people’s saliva. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back and tried to think about all things he would do once that most unpleasant adventure was over. He didn’t look at his fellow passengers nor did he try to talk to them. He didn’t think he had much in common with them.

He also tried to refuse the bathroom break at first. Going about his business in a bush was below him, but unfortunately his body didn’t want to obey him, and by the second break he quickly disappeared behind a bush, just like everybody else which was quite demeaning. The smell of the people that shared the wagon with him didn’t exactly help improve his mood either, although he did at least manage not to let his discomfort in that regard show too much.

And then, without a warning, the wagon suddenly stopped. He could see that they were parked at the edge of a field. He tried to ask one of the guards what was going to happen now and whether they had reached their destination – no, he demanded answers - but the man simply rudely answered that the morning would bring answers and told him to sleep. He didn’t manage to do so for a couple of bells, as his discomfort was simply too great. He only fell into a restless slumber once exhaustion finally got the better of him.

[Prophet]

57th of Spring
6th Bell

Roric walked through the gates with the young herbalist and one of the guards was standing next to a wiry little man who had beady eyes. This small figure whispered something at the sight of the young man with pale hair and a vivid stare. A tick went by and Roric slipped through the main shuffling process unscathed but it was all for naught. It was simply an illusion as the beady-eyed man and two Radacke goons followed behind Roric and Haeli. As Haeli was moved towards the freeborn wagons, the goons each took Roric by an arm and restrained him in such a way that he would not be able to do anything but thrash his head and legs. The unhappy little man moved quickly to check the palms of the kelvic. When he found no brands, he gave a small but sinister grin to the goons who promptly knocked the boy over the head and rendered him unconscious. They drug the kelvic away and tossed him into the slave wagons and that was the end of it. Several mean-faced men made sure Haeli didn’t try anything in response.

58th of Spring
3rd Bell

Before the sun was up the next day, there was a terrible ruckus. Those in the Dynasty coaches would not hear much since they had been placed in such comfortable lodgings. In fact, their only displeasing aspect would be the heat. The way everything was wrapped up to look identical over insulated the luxury carriages. The freeborn wagons would hear the commotion very plainly, however, and it would not be pleasant. Even for one who had a history of violence or exposure to an avenue of life that saw a lot of pain, the noise would chill the soul. It was like a howling but mixed in with the screams of a man who was having his skin ripped off. Whatever was causing the sound was close enough that the animals up and down the caravan went silent or fled. The slave wagons were silent. It was odd but the fact of the matter was that every slave in the wagons had been jabbed by a stiletto once the caravan had stopped. The blades were fast, coordinated and tipped in Pillowsap.

While the endless and punishing sounds continued, the slaves were dragged out and lined up on the ground then chained into groups of five. Each group was tagged with a color of rag that was tied to their arms, legs or neck; it really all depended upon the worker who was attaching the dirty pieces of cloth. Once all of the property had been tagged for assignment, cold water and harsh slaps were used to rouse the slaves. There was a particular group that just didn’t seem to want to wake so they were simply fastened to a horse and drug to their designated location. The awful screaming, moaning and agonizing cries continued only they had changed slightly as if it was a different person than before…perhaps a woman.

6th Bell

Syna was rising and it was already humid from the night’s dew. The temperature was going to skyrocket today and the waves of heat bouncing off of Semele’s skin were subtle hints of what lay ahead. The Dynasty carts were moved along to a different area from the rest. They were trotted around a large arc that took them from view and eventually deposited them near a row of huts that had been crudely fashioned and quickly built out of whatever materials were lying around which included old tree, branches, twigs and other various flora. Each member was taken and placed next to a door with their respective family sigil. Inside was a small table, hammocks and several benches as well as chain hung sail fans that could be operated by a slave. The spoiled elite were kindly asked to exit, unpack and prepare themselves for an introduction to the camp’s magistrate-appointed commandant.

About thirty chimes later, a tall man with wild black hair, taut skin and striking blue eyes appeared with a few Radacke goons. The look on his face was serious but held a guile that was not often seen in one who had callouses on his hands. The neatly shaved face and trimmed goatee added a devilish charm that fit with the slightly upturned right corner of his mouth. The man waved off his escort and would visit each shack and invite the members to join him for a brief conversation outside. Once all were assembled, he would open his mouth and speak with such a luscious tone that it didn’t need djed to drip with a hypnotic vibe.

“I am Allister Widowsong. I run this little expedition and you are most needed.” His eyes shifted smoothly transitioning from one face to the next. He even would take in the bodies of those before him as if sizing up steaks for dinner but only as one who truly appreciates the food that he eats. “I’m sure you have questions and I have time for a few but you must understand that we are here for reasons that I cannot disclose. What you must trust is that all of your families’ heads have placed their faith in your magistrate and the belief that this endeavor is going to create prosperity for the dynasties.” He bowed his head slightly indicating that he would field a question or two.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The freeborns were treated fairly well. They were helped out of the wagons and led to a place where many barrels of clean, clear water were set aside for drinking, washing up and a general cooling could be had. Then a simple meal of fresh-baked bread, eggs and some swamp lettuce was served up with a small tumbler of red wine. No refills of the beverage were offered but seconds were made available and the bread was distributed freely to be stashed for later.

After nearly a bell of rest and refueling, the branded free were escorted down towards a row of very thick trees. The guards were polite but insistent and said very little aside from ‘Keep moving, please.’ or ‘I don’t know.’. Once they had made it to the odd-looking row, they were lined up single file and marched along the impenetrable hedge. Though sight was useless, they could easily hear the sounds of a labor camp; whips, shouts, grunts, cries, heavy breathing and the countless echos of shovels beating against rocks and mud.

When the trees were cleared, a large valley opened up in front of them; a dig site. Remnants of a village long-buried stood in varying degrees of reveal. Groups of slaves were being driven to dig out massive amounts of the orangish-brown mud and cart it away from the structures. There were huge screens set up to sift through the muck and other stations where buckets of rubble where dumped out and sorted through by hand. The slaves were all tagged with colorful rag and bound by chains to one another. Their skin was coated in the mud which hid any traces of blood quite well. It also served to make it very hard to recognize anyone by race or other features. Most of the people here were slaves but there was also a large presence of muscle overlording the process.

Mine :

Several dozen men and women who were armed to the teeth stared hungrily at the chained bodies just aching for a chance to inflict pain. Aside from this gruesome statement about the humanity of Kenash, there were several other small groups left to themselves to float about the site performing various tasks. Some were inspecting certain potential artifacts while others tended the wounded or exhausted. There were some that combed over the buildings themselves as if architects trying to determine the nature of the village’s original inhabitants.

Suddenly, a young man rode up on a horse and had a hat pulled low over his face. He stared at the lead guard. “This the bunch?”

“Aye, sir.” The man handed a piece of parchment up to the rider who took it in a gloved hand and examined it thoroughly. He nodded and thanked the man and his team.

“Excellent. Alright everyone, listen up.” He called out in a clear voice over the line of freeborns. “You’re each here for a reason and this paper tells me what it is. I’m going to assign you a task based on the skills the magistrate deemed worthy to bring you here.” He moved his horse slowly down the line dropping his shadowed gaze upon each man and woman. “Do your job and only your job and you’ll be fine. Don’t interfere with anyone else’s work. Don’t slack in your duties. The harder we all work, the faster we can get out of this hot mess of an occupation.” He reached the end of the line and trotted back up to the front then dismounted. He was very well armed and the faded edge of his sheaths indicated the weapons had seen plenty of use. His chiseled jaw and broad shoulders added to his staggering height of well over six feet which made him extremely imposing. “Now, if you have questions, be brief and I’ll try to answer them as I hand out the assignments.” He stepped up to the first man, “What’s your name?”

[Verena Lorak]

When morning came, there was not much for Verena to do. Her joints ached from being stuffed inside such a small space for an extended time and the choking heat did not help her mood at all. To make it worse, they still weren’t entirely allowed to leave the carriage. One of her fellow dynasts insisted to be let out to get some fresh air, but ‘no’ was the only answer he had gotten.

It was not much of a relief when they started moving again, but at least the Lorak they were finally moving. The young healer barely spoke the entire ride, spending her time instead reciting various surgical procedures inside her head. She wondered how her clinic was doing. As long as she remembered it, she had never left it for so long unattended ever since she was in charge. As long as nothing major came up, her slaves should be able to handle it, she supposed.

Fortunately, it did not take too long before they reached the next stop. Much to her surprise, someone announced that they had finally arrived.

Relieved to finally be let out, Verena sighed and squinted up at the bright sunlight. The first thing she noticed was the humidity clinging to them. If it was going to be as hot as yesterday, there would be dozens of people suffering from mild heat strokes. Before she could take a look around, the Lorak was swiftly escorted to a makeshift hut. She did not miss the symbol in front of the slight building. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere, the Dynasties still think it was necessary to announce who they were to the world.

Inside, Verena simply laid out her clothes on the table beside a hammock. She supposed she would be staying for the next few days. The place was not lavish by any means, but it was clean and comfortable so it was good enough for her. After a brief wash of her face and retying her hair, the healer was ready. Unlike most women in Kenash, the young woman was used to a short morning routine, figuring that her time would be better spent on her patients rather than fiddling with her hair.

Not long after, they were ushered out to meet the so-called commandant. More than a little curious, Verena made sure that she was standing in front, wanting to see the person closely. The young woman was greeted by a formidable-looking man with blue eyes who introduced himself as Allister Widowsong and started explaining things.

Ah, there it was again. Another statement telling them that they couldn’t elaborate on the reason of this whole expedition. It was stupid really if she thought about it. They had brought the dynasts here for a reason, yet they could not tell them what? Were they only supposed to stand around and do nothing? A week ago, the Radacke had told her that she was to represent her family’s interest… Her family’s interest in what?

“Where are we precisely?” Verena asked, tilting her head slightly as soon as the man had finished. Besides the small huts, there wasn’t much for her to see or to recognize, but then again she doubted there was anything for her to recognize – they should be some distance away from Kenash by now. “And what are we supposed to do?”