50th of Spring [Moderated Event]

by **Konrad Venger** on May 16th, 2016, 7:08 am

They're looking for something.

Konrad didn't need an archaeologist's tutoring or a lifetime in mining to know what he was looking at... or hearing. Steel on stone, mounds of mud and dirt being piled, transported, sorted through like pilgrims searching for gold... it all pointed to some massive search.

But for what? Jewels? Gold? Silver? Then he looked around where their group had been shepherded to and frowned at the sunken remnants of houses and huts, dragged up from soil and history into the muggy light. But in a village?

He stood there silently, thoughts running around and tripping over each other as he took to guessing. Asking aloud for answers was as fruitless as the night before, and after the first few times, Konrad had been content to keep his own counsel and fill his belly. Regardless of what was coming, he had a feeling he'd need his strength.

Then the big man on the horse came along and addressed the branded-but-free group. Konrad saw a man used to his way of life; weapons crafted and kept because they worked, not because they were pretty, cold eyes above a well-used smile and politeness as useful as any weapon of steel or wood.

Big bastard, too. Not many men could look Konrad square in the eye, but this one could, and did so without a flicker of fear or revulsion. Venger looked back impassively, sneer on his face the result of his scars and not, for a change, any ill-feeling he felt the need to express.

"Konrad Venger," he said in his low, gravelly voice when he was addressed. He thought that would be enough. A glance down at his arm would tell the man whom he served; a look anywhere else would scream what he was best at. He was willing to bet the man already knew who he was, what he did and what he'd had for breakfast three days ago. "What do y'need me t'do?"

The unspoken "... so I can get the petch out of this smelly shykeheap" was as pointed as his actual words, and Konrad left them hanging as he stood there, waiting for an answer with his hands clasping and unclasping.

What are they looking for? And more petching importantly, who do they think I can sodding help?

by **Firenze** on May 21st, 2016, 3:24 pm

Dream

The lids of her eyes moved rapidly as she dreamed fitfully. Her body was curled into a ball, leaned against the edge of the seat where others sat. Her mind slowly dredged itself from a dream that would barely be remembered. Only the feeling of it would still claw at her heart, bits and pieces of it would continue to echo within her mind.

However, the slow stirring would only last a moment. It was then that the guards ripped back the canvas. Syna’s light blinding the thin, frail bodies who were huddled together en masse. Those closest to the end of the wagon would try to scurry back, only to be grabbed and ripped from within.

Shouts echoed around her as the guards barked orders. Their voices and commands bounced off her ears; she would catch some of it, but the fog of a restless sleep and the long journey would have her mind slow and bewildered. She scrambled along the rough surface, a splinter digging into her knee, as she was shoved along with the people. The cries of others sang in time with the pounding of her heart. Eyes squinted against the rays of light but the brief moment of consciousness wouldn’t last long as she felt something sharp sting her, and then a pitch black swiftly pull her back under.

Waking with a start as a harsh cold liquid ran along her skin, the shock pulled her from the drugged slumber. Fire scanned her surroundings trying to piece together what may have happened and her current location. The ground was hard beneath her back, but it did little to help her feel anchored as her head swam. She was lying with five others in the field, all of them in various stages of rousing. Slowly she’d made her way to her feet, most of the others joined, with the exception of a far group. It had taken the group a moment to all get to their feet as it took a team effort after a few attempts and then realized they’d been bound. Once gathered together, the far group strapped to horses, they shuffled slowly towards their destination.

Bells later she would find herself in the bottom of a pit, caked in a reddish-brown mud. Blonde hair matted to her head, matching the rest of her features. The cloth that barely covered her frail body clung to the dirtied and wetted skin. The humidity and pounding of the sun was sweltering, she was sure that if not her, then one of her teammates would die of exhaustion from Syna’s harsh rays.

It was strange that the slaves that had been gathered had been of all different shapes, sizes and race, yet now they all appeared the same. They were all of the same no matter where they’d come from or who they’d been prior. Fire moved slowly out of the pit, up each layer with her small bucket full of dirt she’d pulled from the bottom. Once at the top she took a moment to look up, golden eyes scanned the bodies that shuffled around, moving the mud and dirt from one hole to another. It was hard to tell one from the other; each person coated with the filth, the only way to tell them apart was the colored bands. It was then, as she glanced around, that she noticed a group of Freeborn at the edge of the clearing.

Others | Firenze | Thoughts

by **Achenar** on May 22nd, 2016, 4:56 am

Sleep had taken him, though it was harsh and restleess. For all the bells of the night he was trapped into the chaotic ruin of his thoughts. His dreams were composed of questions, too many questions. His master's face, the smell of his office, the scent of his polished wooden desk. Why he was here? His mouth had opened to say those words, Was he of further use to Zaelsen? He found that difficult to believe, considering the lengths he'd gone to retrieve him, but the man had always been utterly unpredictable. The fact he was even here was testament to that.

Zaelsen's smile was the only answer to those words. That smile that could hold venom. Achenar found himself reaching out with a hand, as though towards him. To hurt him? He couldn't know.

Water splashed onto him like a shock to his system, and he jolted awake like the others who groaned in waves. One by one, the slaves were pulled from the wagon, and whatever poor schmuck wasn't quick enough recieved the next set of punishments they had prepared. They must not be so eager for helping hands, Achenar thought bitterly.

A hand wrapped around his arm and he was tugged into Syna's beating rays. He was no longer tall and statuesque, having reverted to his svefra form earlier. A bandana was tied haphazardly around his leg and he was marched with another set of slaves down into a place the svefra had never seen before. Slaves trudged in the muck with their heads down low, and soon he was among them as well. It wasn't long before he was caked in mud and covered near head to toe, but in a way, it offered some respite to the blistering heat of the morning.

y

by **Valerius Nitrozian** on May 22nd, 2016, 2:12 pm

At one point during the night Valerius was awoken by a sound that came from somewhere in the darkness outside the wagon. It reminded him of a man that was screaming in pain. He wasn’t as happy with his seat near the entrance anymore, but he was too proud to try and persuade one of his fellow prisoners – for that was what they all were in his opinion – to trade places with him, although a part of him wanted to do exactly that.

Aquiras would have to rise from his slumber and Rhysol would have to fall before he would admit that he too felt fear sometimes and was weak. So he simply sat completely straight, as if none of the events around him affected him. He didn’t move and barely breathed, but waited for the commotion to be over, which fortunately happened before too long.

Eventually he fell asleep again and didn’t awake until Syna began to appear from behind the horizon once more. It was already very warm in the wagon, and the temperature promised to rise even more as the day progressed. His legs barely obeyed him as he finally left his temporary prison. His entire body was stiff, and he felt dirty, sweaty and was generally uncomfortable. Fortunately the water barrels that had been set aside for them looked at least marginally cleaner than the one that had been in the wagon. For that reason the Ravokian decided to swallow his pride and drink as well as wash his face.

The food was likewise tolerable, even if it was nothing special. He ate until he was nearly full. If those people’s previous behavior was anything to go by, they would be unlikely to receive another meal until the next day. He tried to ask the guards again what was going on – he disliked being so ignorant and unaware – but of course they pretended not to know, again. He realized that he only had one option if he wanted to keep his life and that was to follow his fellow Freeborn like a good obedient little servant that didn’t have a will of his own.

It irked him beyond measure.

The sounds that reached his ears were unmistakable: There was a labor camp close by, a mine. But what exactly were they looking for her, in the middle of nowhere? Metals? Gems? What was so important that they had to drag half of Kenash out of their beds and abduct them? Even more importantly, what did they need him for? He looked at the man on his horse and furrowed his brow. Nothing about what was happening made any sense to him.

“Valerius Nitrozian”, he introduced himself calmly, betraying nothing of his thoughts and looked directly at him as he asked, “What kind of assignment do you have for me?”

In his opinion it was time for a few answers.

by **Prophet** on May 23rd, 2016, 1:10 am

Allister Widowsong heard several questions from the entitled group and waited patiently for a moment of silence. With the initial outburst out of the way, the young man smiled in a very polite manner before taking hold of a young woman’s hand. The thin fingers and slender arm ran up along the slim form of a woman that Allister had been familiarized with well before this meeting. In fact, he had been a shadow amidst the city of vices for quite some time. The man had studied each Dynast and each Freeborn from a distance before having the Magistrate find a way to make everyone compliant. The hand in his grasp was quickly pressed against his lips which were soft and cool. The brief embrace allowed his eyes to bolt up to her dark orbs and stare into the gaze of Verena. He righted himself and stood next to her with a slightly bent form that bent around her body. “Ms. Lorak, we are somewhere in the Sea of Grass in the location of a once prominent village that predates the Valterrian.” He allowed his gaze to finally wander from her pleasant countenance to some of the others.

“Its name has long been lost but it is said there’s an artifact of powerful magic here; one that could regain some of the lost glory of the old empires.” Allister placed his free hand over top of the one he held and looked back to the face of its owner. “You are each here to utilize your special gifts. For instance, Ms. Verena has been brought to help maintain the health of my workers and volunteers like yourselves.” He traced his thumb along the top of her hand very slowly in the shape of an old symbol for infinity while he talked. Her soft skin was perfectly fitting to match her appearance. Allister gazed at her with a look of intrigue and appreciation. He made a mental note to pay her a visit later. The man released her from his grasp and explained the concept of the mine then dismissed the Dynasts to have a simple meal before being led to the mine for work.

Verena would not be rushed through her refueling. Whenever she was ready and had gathered her things, a plainly dressed young man bearing the mark of Radacke was waiting for her. He would take her bags and guide her away from the small shelter of the uts and trees into the open mess of the strip mine. All were subject to heat exhaustion and other such ailments under the beating sun and working in thick humidity. There was a humble tent off to the south with a line of bodies covered on one side and a line of bodies being carried in on the other. There were a dozen guards around this tent and all of them looked uneasy; for all deviants know that hospitals make great places for an escape. As the duo approached, a young woman stepped out and dumped a pail of bloody water into the mud. She looked up with stressed eyed and a sunburnt nose. “You the doctor? Come with me, we have a man who broke his arm.”

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

The first to approach the foreman was a large man in a duster and beat-up hat. The broad brim made the corner of foreman’s mouth curl up. He had made guesses which freeborn was which name on his list using the occupations and appearances. He was one for one. “Mr. Venger, it’s good to have you along. We are well under-muscled, if’n ya catch my meaning.” The man leaned close and turned his head slightly to make sure certain eyes weren’t watching and certain ears could not hear. “Just don’t say it too loud…management is not the sort you want to upset.” The man’s voice dropped in volume as a shadow passed over his face. The big guy stood upright once more and pointed to the deeper pits where the slaves were carting mud up from the bottom with small buckets. “That’s a tough lot, right there. Your services would be well-used on that stubborn bunch.” The foreman nodded with a respect in his eyes for the mercenary. “On you go, Mr. Venger. Next.”

Konrad would find a wimpy group of prods being verbally harassed by clever slaves down in the pit. There were men and women, pretty and plain but they were all covered in mud. A tall woman had a few lashes on her body but she was emasculating one of the leads. There was also a group of smaller men but one looked feisty. He was branded as a slave but he had the tattoos of a Svefra. He was chained to several men who were finding their courage from the woman and tossing mud at the slavers. Essentially, work had all but stopped and as Konrad was finally on site, Allister stepped from the management tent with some goons and began to look around. The other slavers were suddenly very afraid and tried with whips, curses and threats to motivate the slaves under their charge.

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

Several more people were introduced and assigned to tasks before a haughty young fellow with a wise stare was presented before the foreman. The foreman glanced down at his list. “Va-lerian..ah! yes. Mr. Nitrozian, thank you for taking the time out of your busy life to help us. Your skills of intellect and investigation will be of great use. There are many items which we do not know what they are or how they fit into the puzzle of the search. While I cannot tell you exactly what we’re after, I can tell you it is a piece of history that is worth a small fortune to the city of Kenash.” The foreman looked around and waited for one of his goons to pass before he leaned in closer to the scholarly man. “I understand it that were the magistrate able to find what he seeks, anyone having a business or other private stock in the city will stand to make a good profit.” He wasn’t entirely telling the truth but he wasn’t lying. What they were after was power and power meant money for everyone.

Later in the day, a slaver would come and find Valerius and lead him to a nearly collapsed building. From the arrangement and size of the rooms it was more than likely a residence of some sort. There was a group of slaves cowering just outside under the watchful eyes and quick wrists of several women with terrifying expressions. Out of all the slavers and goons, these two looked like they wanted to drink the blood of the slaves. Once inside, there was a small table with another slaver standing behind it. He was leaning over a box and sorting through some old pieces of parchment. When Valerius arrived, he set them down and eased the wrinkles in his brow. “These strange little pictures show up everywhere but the only ones that make sense have a rabbit or some smiles on them…aaand I think that’s a bowl.” The glyph depicted a rabbit, a bowl and a pestle then some very hard to discern scribblings followed by a bunch of marching, toothy grins. There were many more like it but they all seemed to follow some kind of pattern of death and power which was some kind of brutal cycle. All in all, the rabbit was the key to the smiles.

PlayersPlease feel free to expand upon the scenarios I have built for your PCs. If you have not posted yet, please feel free to respond to the previous post where introductions and instructions can be given and I will respond to you the same way that I have with these folk. PM me if you have any questions.

by **Verena Lorak** on May 28th, 2016, 3:24 am

Verena realized what Allister was doing a little too late. By then, the man already had already made his move. Her whole body tensed as it considered the danger of being in such close proximity with a stranger. Her heart pounded inside her chest and air seemed to escape her. The healer could not help feeling trapped. She had to remind herself again and again that this man was not about to hurt her. That her fear was irrational.

It worked, mostly. At least enough to make her to be able to stand still. Allister then proceeded to kiss her hand. Reflexively, the Lorak tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was stronger than she expected. She was starting to regret agreeing to this whole endeavor.

“ Its name has long been lost but it is said there’s an artifact of powerful magic here; one that could regain some of the lost glory of the old empires. You are each here to utilize your special gifts. For instance, Ms. Verena has been brought to help maintain the health of my workers and volunteers like yourselves.”

Normally, the healer would have asked more questions – What sort of artifact? How did he know it was here? Why is the Dynasts willing to give a lot for this thing? – but her discomfort and apprehension had overruled her ability to speak. The way he was tracing her hand did not help either. A part of her regretted asking the question that had allowed Allister to single her out.

Once he released her, relief washed over every inch of her skin. Verena stepped back, making sure she was more than an arm's length away from Allister. She barely even listened to his explanations as she tried to calm herself down. No one in Kenash would have dared to be so bold with her, but then again, they were not in Kenash anymore.

Thankfully, they were swiftly told to return to their huts. She hoped that would be the last time she needed to see Allister Widowsong. There was not much for her to do as she readied herself. The quick meal tasted bland, but she wasn’t one to complain since she was starving. As soon as she was ready, a Radacke slave greeted her outside and led her pass the trees.

Verena was greeted by a sight unlike anything she had ever seen. Mud seemed to cover every surface of everything as far as she could see – even the slaves. As she trudged through the damp ground, she glanced up at the unrelenting sun and then back at the slaves who were chained to each other. This was not a time to be doing hard labor outside. They would be losing more slaves if they insisted for them to work.

As if to prove her point, Verena was led to a simple tent. Her eyes quickly rested on the covered bodies outside and her stomach churned. So many had died already. How long had this been going on? How can they force people to struggle under this circumstances? Didn’t anyone tell them that they could kill a lot of people this way? Swallowing the lump in her throat, Verena decided she would speak about this to whoever was in charge.

For now, the best she could do was make sure that no one else died in this tent.

They had almost arrived when a young woman exited the tent. “You the doctor? Come with me, we have a man who broke his arm.” As Verena approached, the young woman continued. “My name is Saf, miss. I am in charge of keeping the slaves in this place alive. I am no doctor, but I am the best they got.” Verena had to admit, the woman looked fierce. She knew from experience being in charge of so many patients was no easy task. “I hope you know what you are doing, miss. I do not have the time to hold your hand through this.”

The smell of sweat and blood assaulted her the moment she stepped inside the tent. It was something she had been accustomed to, but still it had taken her off guard. She followed the woman to a cot near the end of the tent where a man lay. Under all the mud, Verena could barely make out the man’s features, but it was clear enough that he was in pain.

“How long have you been learning medicine, miss? You seem a bit young. I had hoped for someone more experienced.” The woman moved to set the slave’s bone, readying her grip.

“That is not right,” the healer pointed out, noting the way Saf was holding the man’s arm. “I will do it.”

Without waiting for an answer, the Lorak was already taking the older woman’s place and brushing her hand away. It was not that the young woman wanted to show off, she just had the tendency to point out mistakes without considering the person receiving it. Keeping a firm grip on the deformed arm, Verena glanced up the patient briefly. “This will hurt. You can take a deep breath.” In the middle of the man’s inhalation, Verena snapped the bone back into its place. A simple wooden plank was already readied on the man’s bed and the young woman swiftly made a makeshift splint.

Saf’s glance to the Lorak was more respectful this time. “Alright, perhaps they did give me someone experienced.”

The healer was grateful to finally do something she was skilled at. It would have been a waste of her time to come here and abandon her patients only to sit around all day. Though she wondered if that was all she could do the whole week she would be here. As much as she loved her work, Verena came to find out what all this had been about. The only one that might be able to give her answers was probably Allister, but she wasn’t quite sure that she was desperate enough to seek him out. Perhaps in a few more days.

by **Achenar** on May 29th, 2016, 4:27 am

oocSorry this is pretty short. Just not much to work with. ):

Despite his near death experiences under the Radacke Dynasty, it was only now that he truly came to believe his life was coming to an end. The blistering sun was beating down on the muddy slaves like the whips of the slave drivers. With Achenar among them, he was no longer sheltered by virtue of his race, but out toiling with the others as they unearthed whatever it was the masters were looking for. And to him, it was futile. There were dead and dying everywhere he looked. The stench of blood and sweat filled this chasm like a miasma.

He toiled away like the rest of the people he was chained with, his breathing hard. As much as he looked the part of a rebellious individual with his tattoos, he was anything but. He’d learned from his many years in Kenash that acting out would quickly lead to his death and so even though, in the back of his mind, he felt the looming threat of it on the horizon. His muscled coiled and bunched as he slung mud. His fingers felt calloused already. He had always ever been a house slave, so drudge work was far more difficult work than usual. Still he continued, until the slaves beside him suddenly stopped.

Achenar glanced up more out of annoyance than anything. He didn’t want to draw attention to the guards, but it seemed like a defiance had run through the slaves and those he was chained to had paused in their work. A woman was slinging swears and insults at the slavers who held their whips aloft. Damned fools, he thought bitterly. They were going to die. All of them, sooner rather than later. But perhaps this is what they wanted, rather than suffer under the heat and exertion.

“I’m not with them, I’m doing my work,” he tried to placate with his hands raised as though to prove he had no weapon on him. But it didn’t seem to matter. Whips did not discriminate and it rained down on him and the other slaves. Pain exploded where the weapon struck, and he could feel hot blood streak down his back. He fell to his knees, covering his head with his arms, holding his breath. One of the men dared continue his defiance and met a fist to the face.

Achenar kept himself as small as possible, trying to draw the least attention to himselff.[/b]

y

by **Valerius Nitrozian** on June 2nd, 2016, 5:28 am

„Valerius, actually“, he corrected the foreman. He found it strange that they went to all those efforts to practically abduct people from their homes and threaten them and yet failed to note their names down correctly. If he had been in charge of the operation, he thought, such mistakes would not have happened, but he knew better to say it out loud. There was something about those people that suggested that they would not be open to the truth which was unfortunate, really.

“But anyway, I am glad that I can be of use, and I will be of course do my utmost to help you identify those items you mentioned”, he continued, in a tone that was utterly polite, despite the fact that what he felt was the opposite of gladness. If they had asked for his help on the other hand rather than pressuring him, he might actually have enjoyed the task and be fascinated by it to some extent, but it was already far too late for that, of course.

Still, as the man leaned closer to him and whispered those words, he raised an eyebrow. Despite all the things he disliked about the situation at hand, the mention of “profit” still caught his attention, and he inclined his head a fraction, a sign that he had understood.

He had thought that it would be urgent, but they only came to him later that day and took him to a building that was nearly collapsed. He looked at the slaves cowering in front of it indifferently for a moment before he pulled his gaze away and stepped into the building. Neither the slaves nor the people watching them were of particular interest to him.

“May I?” he asked after the man had showed him the pieces of parchment. He treated them as if they were something impossibly precious and delicate which they might very well be, for all he knew. He had solved riddles before and cracked codes, but the glyphs before him were different from everything he had seen before. That did not discourage him though, on the contrary, he enjoyed problems that looked as if they were impossibly to solve.

“They look old”, he remarked. “Very old. What kind of place is this here?” He looked at the man for a moment, although he was not sure if he would tell him anything useful – those people had not been exactly forthcoming with information before – before he bent over the glyphs again to study them. There was something about those toothy grins that would likely have sent shivers down the spines of most men, but Valerius just let a finger run across the glyphs in question, furrowing a brow as he did so.

Everything suggested that he was dealing with a cycle. The glyphs spoke of an event that perpetually repeated itself, but what kind of event? He looked at the picture of the rabbit and then at the bowl and back at the rabbit. What he saw in the pictures did not please him at all. For a moment he wondered if he should tell those people about it – he didn’t care if they died, as long as he got away – but then he remembered the mention of profit again, and made his decision. He would be helpful, as long as there was something to be gained from it.

“Somebody is coming”, he informed the man, in case he was still there. “The pictures tell of a terrible event that took place ages ago and that will repeat itself. The smiling people will return, and it will not be pleasant. I do not have a date for you, but considering what is going on around us, I would say that it will happen soon.”

“These here …” He carefully picked up the pictures of the rabbit and the bowl. “Are the keys to everything. I am not sure if the bowl is the source of the smiling men’s behavior or the cure, but it will play a crucial role, just like the rabbit. Your superior should be informed.” He set the pictures down again. “Tell him that something is about to happen, and that he’d better be prepared if he wants to get out of this situation alive. And ask him if they found any artifacts that look like a bowl in the mine.”

“Or get him here, if he is willing to come. It is most important that he knows about this here.”

by **Prophet** on June 12th, 2016, 10:33 pm

Verena’s day was a busy one. After setting the broken bone, she was visited by over a dozen exhausted slaves as well as a handful of guards. Several were so dehydrated that without the aid of a healing mark death was inevitable. The struggle was not only the heat but the poorly prepared triage tent. Supplies were very limited and Saf insisted that most of them be saved for Dynasts and the freeborn workers. More than once, Verena would find herself about to make a poultice for a slave only to have the head nurse ratchet away the herbs or salves. The tense situation only got worse as one young woman came in explaining of her pains and symptoms. She was set gently on a cot and Saf, with wide eyes, removed Ms. Lorak from the tent to have a little talk with her.

In a hushed voice the woman spoke quickly with a nervous tone and shifting eyes. “Listen, girl. I know we don’t see eye to eye and that’s ok but you need to listen to me now.” The older woman looked about checking for prying eyes and bent ears. “This girl’s a favorite of the head man…as in, she’s regularly called to his tent so be on your guard with your tongue and do her right, hear me girl?”

Saf released Verena and followed the doctor back into the tent. During the process of the exam and initial round of questions, the diagnosis would become quite clear. The girl was woozy, moody complained of intense abdominal cramping. A physical inspection would reveal bruising on her wrists, ankles and inner thighs. The woman’s body had been used and abused repeatedly for intercourse and a brief follow-up conversation would soon reveal that the girl was a house slave and tended to Allister’s tent as a maid and concubine. She has only been had by the man and whenever his name or position is mentioned, she cowers as if afraid to be touched. She lifts her big, brown eyes, stained red with tears to the doctor. Her mouth forms words but no sound escapes with them. Ms. Lorak only has to watch as the question is proposed. “Can you kill his baby?” Tears start to flow down the girl’s sun-kissed cheeks. “I can’t be the one to carry it.”

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

As the prods beat down on the unruly slaves, the Foreman marched over to observe. When all of the beatings had stopped he pointed to a small man within the rank. “Until the flogging began, he had been working, yes?” One of the prods responded with a thick-necked nod that was very slow. The foreman almost finished the reaction with a bit of impatience. “Good. Get him out and bring him to the Dynast tents. Two of the house slaves have died from heat stroke and he seems like he’d clean up well enough.” The foreman jogged back to his horse and mounted quickly. He turned the steed and trotted him past the trench. “Do clean him first.”

While all of the slaves were still reeling from the outpouring of abuse, two men jumped down in the mud and unbound Achenar. They shoved him up the ladder where two more men half-escorted, half-dragged him well away from the muddy mine. He was tossed into a huge pool of water build using sections of tree trunks to make a wall in the side of a riverbed. They tossed down a chunk of cheap soap and some rags. “Clean yerself up, ya petchin’ bastard. Foreman says ya gotta go clean the brats’ huts.” While the two men gave Achenar a hard time and continued to mock and harass him, they did not rush him in his bath. A large reason would be that this little area was in the shade for them too. After almost thirty chimes, they told him to get out. One held a towel while the other kept a whip and cutlass ready. “Mind your manners, slave. Lord Allister wants ya to try and escape so he can sk-oooof!” the man’s wind was deflated by a punch from his companion.

“Shut up, Beef!” The smarter one turned and gave Achenar a look. “Let’s go. The huts are this way.” They marched the Eth through the woods a ways to another clearing where several huts had been set up and each was marked with a dynasty symbol on the door. They pointed to the first one where a short, round woman stood with an armload of cleaning supplies and tools. “Help Agnes clean these petchin’ things.” They shoved Achenar in the back and walked away. Though the space seemed unguarded, there were several shadowed areas on opposite ends where it would be easy to set up an observation post to watch the ongoings without attracting much attention. Agnes seemed to sense the young man’s confusion and spoke up first.

“C’mon, suga. Let’s get started. You help ol’ Agnes and we’s get som’thin’ extra at dinner.” She headed up the few steps and into the first hut stopping only to oke her head out to make sure he was following her.

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Valerius had given his watchful prod more information that he could handle. Obviously a brute built for simple tasks like beating someone within an inch of life, the concept of artifacts and historical prophesy escaped him. His wide-eyed expression and slack jaw made this very transparent to the young businessman. When Val said that the superior should be informed, the man seemed to wake up and nodded vigorously. He took off and ran to the nearest man on horse. After a short dialogue that Val could not here, the big oaf came back. “Come with me, sir.” He staggered over the word ‘sir’ like he was prompted to use it. He made sure to lead Valerius around some of the smellier areas and up the hill towards the tree line where a massive tent stood. The Foreman was listening to the mounted slaver that Val’s brute had spoken with earlier. The giant Foreman dismounted and entered the tent.

When Val arrived at the top of the hill, he was offered a seat at a table with three chairs, given a pitcher of cool water and had a plate of dried meat, fresh fruit and hard bread placed before him. He would literally sit and wait for almost a bell without any decent prospects for conversation. Finally, the tent opened and Allister walked out. The man was small next to Foreman and the brute but both seemed to respect and possibly fear him. The light eyes, pale skin and well-groomed appearance seemed to hide a dark secret. Either that or the darkness was so comfortable that it relished being displayed in the light.

As Allister sat down, he smiled very politely while a glass and plate were fetched for him and set down. He waved his hand and everyone but Foreman left the hilltop. Allister stared at Val for several moments before he poured himself a glass of water. “Valerius Nitrozien. I am Allister Widowsong and I am very pleased to meet you.” The boss took a drink and began to finger at some of the dried meat before flicking a piece aside and taking up a juicy slice of peach. He sucked it into his mouth and bit off half of it before setting the rest down on his plate. “I’m told you’re a scholarly man and while we must certainly have much in common, my time is precious so let’s get down to it.” Allister leaned forward and gulped up the other half of his fruit slice. “Tell me what you have found.” Allister’s face and tone hid nothing. He was excited by the prospect; hungered for it, one might say.

by **Prophet** on July 6th, 2016, 8:37 pm

OOC :

Quest 50th of Spring [Moderated Event]