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Home of the Konti people, this ivory city is built of native konti stone half in and half out of the sea. Its borders touch the Silverwood, and stretch upwards towards Silver Lake, home of the infamous konti vision water. [Lore]
Timestamp: is your choice. The quest will take around ten days. Plot Notes
When Serrif opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his tent on Konti Isle anymore.
The first thing he noticed was dirty straw covering the floor before his eyes. A couple of feet away solid steel bars marked the border of the room. They were at least as thick as his wrists, making it impossible to destroy them. Apparently they ended in the ground. But then, if he started to shift and move, he’d feel the coldness of the floor under the straw mats that were his bed. So the floor was made of steel as well. A thin blanket that had once been dark brown in color covered his body. He was dressed in nothing but a loincloth and his body was not only scarred as ever, but also dirty and exhausted.
If he chose to rise from the bed and inspect his surroundings in detail, he’d find out that he was indeed trapped in a cage like a wild animal. Its ceiling was not quite as high as he was tall, forcing him to crouch down. There was a bucket for physical desires, and a dirty bowl on the ground that probably had contained water a short while ago.
Through the bars he could see two buildings that looked like barracks and other cages to his left and right. They were filled with men, women and sometimes even children who looked just as dirty and weak as he felt. Syna was just rising above the rooftops of the barracks, lighting a situation that would carve despair in Serrif’s mind.
It was the slave camp of his past. The nightmare was back.
Releasing muttered curses into the morning air, the head of the camp was approaching from the right. Serrif would remember that everyone called him ‘The Red Man’ behind his back and ‘Master Talas’ when standing or kneeling or lying in front of him. Even his fellow slavers. Cracking his whip, the man was wandering past the cages and throwing a wicked smile into the slaves’ direction. Humming what sounded like some morbid nursery rhyme, he continued towards his ‘office’, the biggest barrack. Those of them who had seen it from inside never spoke of it.
Serrif knew the man, knew what it meant when his gaze lingered on him for just a bit longer. Like it did just now.
"Shard by shard she rearranges the world. It looks the same, she says, but it is not. It looks as they expect, but it is not." Gregory Maguire, "Wicked"
Serrif woke and could hardly believe his eyes when he did. He could feel the coarse hay under his body; a familiar feeling of years past…or so he thought. His body was completely shocked when he beheld the thick iron bars; again another familiar sight to him again. He could feel the cold air on his body. Again the sickness set in. The cool ground made of steel; he was in a cage he was sure of it now. The dark brown sheet that usually covered his body was stained dark with blood; cast aside in the cage no longer providing warmth for his body. His mind began calculating; everything felt so real; was this a dream.
His mind began raging as he though through everything that had happened to him. His mind’s reality shifting and changing with every switching moment as he dove deeper into darkness as he stood. He reached out and felt the bars. They were the same cold wrought iron he remembered. The same metal that kept him and many others caged for years. He looked down and well there was his bucket to relieve himself in, and the small water bowl…Yes he was still a slave…His body was just as weak and dirty as he remembered it being.
To his left and right he could see the others in the cages confirming what he already knew to be true. What of the Konti isle? What of Blythe, Keyta, Eisi, Quelen, Ildin and Angelique? Had they been figments of his prolonged and tortured imagination? Had he been knocked out so hard that he imagined that place and those people? Had his mind merely constructed an alternate reality that he wished was true in order for him to escape this place? He pondered on this for moments and then had another thought. Was this a dream? His mind ran around in circles for a few minutes until he felt dizzy and disoriented. He closed his eyes and thought when he opened them this would all be gone. If it was a dream it would go away; it always had in the past….
But instead when he opened his eyes he saw the two barrack type buildings before him between those torturous bars…This was reality. His mind fractured, that place the Konti Isle was a lie. It didn’t exist at all. Blythe, Eisi, Ildin Angelique and Keyta were all lies as well. Constructed from his mind to help him cope. He sat back down his back against the bars. His face in his hands. A broken man; just when he thought he had escaped this place…He hadn’t. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that he may never escape this place. He would never know love and acceptance, instead these were replaced with hate and torture.
“The Konti Isle doesn’t exist….”He kept muttering to himself under his breath as he shivered and seemingly screamed to himself in his mind. “All lies….All lies.”
The morbid nursery rhyme filled his mind and as he looked up at the man walking the cages. He didn’t care what the man was called. Honestly he was more than ready to pass on now. There was nothing for him now. Maybe the Konti Isle was his soul passing on to the beyond. Maybe that was what heaven was like…Or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him again…He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Broken he wasn’t sure what was real and what was simply his mind playing tricks on him. The slavers gaze lingered on Serrif for a little too long, nothing good ever came of this.
Serrif’s response was a little more different than usual. He laughed a little and shook his head from side to side slowly in disbelief. He still couldn’t believe that his mind had come up with that elaborate lie for him. A whole separate isle full of beautiful peaceful women; an obvious construct of his tortured mind. He was here though, and now it was harder to remain. His reality altered and he knew maybe if they poisoned him again he could visit the place his mind had made for him.
“Keep staring…” He paused and laughed a little “maybe I’ll do a trick.” His sense of humor was certainly morbid but honestly what else did he have? He was sure that would get an answer from the whip; but that was a pain he was more than used to. The pain of this Konti Isle construct he had been lost in for only God knows how long….well this was new. Something he could hardly fathom.
A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.
The naughty little woodpecker Knocked holes, crumbling the forest The angry wood god turned his beak into poison!
The poor little woodpecker, his nest was poison, and his supper too He touched his friends and they all died The sad little woodpecker His little poison tears twinkle and shine Kataoka Jinsei & Kondou Kazuma, Deadman Wonderland
The man didn’t show any signs that he was bothered by Serrif’s words. He merely continued gazing at him, with those black eyes, and then he averted his gaze and smiled to himself. His humming grew into the nursery rhyme again, although this time he seemed to sing louder, loud enough for the slaves to understand the words. His voice could have been called beautiful if there hadn’t been that unsettling quality to it. There was nothing nice, nothing sympathetic left in that man.
After he had disappeared in his office and slammed the door shut, an audible sigh went through the cages. Most of them were glad that the Red Man’s gaze hadn’t lingered on them. They considered it a judgment, the test for who would be chosen to entertain him for the day.
They only got two meals per day, one would be served a bell before Syna was at its peak, and one shortly before she descended behind the barracks’ rooftops. Probably Serrif would feel hunger nagging at his belly, although it was likely that his body had adjusted to the constant malnourishment and longing for more. The sun rose and dried the morning moisture in the straw away. Some of the slaves were quietly whispering with each other through the iron bars or occasionally used the buckets in their cages, but most of them simply sat or lied there, waiting for nothing.
Others had entered the Red Man’s office since his appearance, and after what seemed like half a bell, one of them left through the door and strode towards the cages. Towards a particular cage. After feeling for the two curved knives at his belt, he removed one of the keys from his bunch and unlocked Serrif’s cage. “Get goin’ already! He ain’t like waitin’, you know that!” Spitting out, he waited until Serrif obliged and then grabbed him by the arm to drag him towards where he had come from. Serrif would probably be able to remember his name if he made an effort to do so, but in the end all lackeys were the same.
Once they were inside the barrack, Serrif was thrown on the wooden floor in the middle of the room. The red man was sitting in a ragged armchair at the back. Because the window behind him was dirty and the oil lamp had been dimmed, the room was enclosed in twilight. While the lackey took a few steps back towards the entrance door, the Red Man rose from and smirked down at Serrif. “Here we have our favorite patient, have we?” His voice oozed twisted gentleness.
“How are you today, number seven?” he then asked with a serious expression. The slaves were numbered, and Serrif had been among the first bunch captured. The Red Man had taken a liking to him and his eyes sparkled as he was waiting for some kind of reaction. The whip hung at his side.
"Shard by shard she rearranges the world. It looks the same, she says, but it is not. It looks as they expect, but it is not." Gregory Maguire, "Wicked"
His mind was still reeling. The peace of the isle had left him physically; along with everything associated with it. The cold unforgiving bars under his body brought him back to the truth that seemed to be. He had never left this place; physically. He wasn’t well, still malnourished. Every inch of him ached terribly from being starved. He sighed and leaned against the bars with his back. Reality had been sapped from him. The Isle was a lie…he should’ve known. An isle full of beautiful blonde haired women healers and fortune tellers. Such a thing just couldn’t exist. No such a place would’ve been rolled over by a more vicious race by now. He reflected, why had his mind constructed such an unbelievable lie for him? Maybe the isle represented everything he wanted, everything he wished to be.
He wanted to further his knowledge of medicine so he could help these people; Lym represented this. With her infinite knowledge of the arts of philtering and herbalism. He thought even deeper were all these lessons false? They seemed real to him. Was all the knowledge of medicine he had learned from her a complete lie? Or had his mind somehow picked up actual knowledge while he was here and just constructed this way to tell him? He couldn’t be sure if what he had learned from Lym was even safe. If he was mixing medicine and not poison when and if he decided to use the knowledge that Lym shared with him….or rather that he shared with himself it seemed. Every little bit of information was a curse; and carried with it a heavy burden now. Could he use the knowledge at all?
He also wanted to fight a back against these men and strengthen his body so he would never be tortured again; Ildin represented this. She pushed his body and helped him build a fortified strengthened outer core. Ildin showed him where his real limits were in life and just how he could actually push his body before he fell. She also showed him his most useful skill in this instance. The longbow. He could use this to free himself and these people when the situation arose. He could bury the three foot arrows in the Red Man’s chest from a safe distance. And also likely assassinate the other slavers as well. He pondered this option carefully, would Ildin want this? She had taught him these skills so he could be at peace with himself and the world. But would she approve of this? What did he care? Ildin didn’t exist. He audibly laughed some as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. Even if she did exist he was pretty sure that she would agree with him; these men had harmed the innocent too long. They were responsible for the death and enslavement of countless innocent women children and men. Whatever arrow he buried in their chests was a gift…he was sure there were far worse things that he could do. A quick death by flight of arrow would be a welcome release of these wicked men.
He wanted to feel accepted; hence Blythe. She accepted him for who he was even though he was a tortured soul. But part of him feared that he would love and never be loved back. Blythe also represented this; she was unobtainable for him. Someone he could love endlessly if he wanted; but she would never love him back. She was an enigma for him. Someone he would never completely understand. He learned that there was indeed a place for him…somewhere. That there was indeed a people somewhere that could and would accept him no matter who he was. But it wasn’t the Konti Isle. Because it didn’t exist.
He also wanted love and a peaceful future; Angelique represented this. He loved her, and even after confessing who he was and what his intentions were she still loved him. She hadn’t run away from him. She instead gifted him something wonderful; something he thought he would never have. She represented more to him then anyone could ever imagine. Which made him really question how his mind could’ve constructed her in the first place. How his mind could’ve constructed any of those people; much less an entire Isle for them to live on. And then an entire complex society on top of that.
Mind spinning he couldn’t come to a very logical conclusion about this. Why would his mind construct all that? Why construct a complex society that he couldn’t ever be a part of? A society where he would one day die and leave the woman he loved behind. A society where he would never really assimilate and be a true member of because he wouldn’t live long enough to make a real impression? He was thinking to hard about this. His mind had done it seemingly out of necessity. Because the reality that he was going to be trapped here forever was oppressive without an escape. Without an outlet for his soul to go to. He had been here for years; and it looked like he was going to indeed be here until death as well.
Serrif was starting to shake some. His body cold, but he refused to warm it. Maybe he wanted to just torture himself. Maybe he would fall over and pass out. And be on the Isle again. Maybe…but he wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere…But in a twisted fate of events the Gods seemed to grant him the wish in his mind. He was going somewhere alright. Away from the cage, but not out of this place; not away from the camp. A slaver came to him and yelled some. Telling him how their leader wasn’t much on waiting around. One thing Serrif actually did remember about this place.
He stood and suddenly the life of the camp was coming more and more real around him. Alexander was the man barking orders at him. At least he was sure that his name was Alexander. But then again he was more and more unsure of what was real and not by the second. But he figured his best bet was to just stay alive for now. And keep the slavers from causing any real trouble in the camp. He was dragged away to the barracks; this all felt very familiar to him. Well this seemed to be more of a reality than the Isle. Just because it felt a little more familiar than anything else; the impact of the wooden floor confirmed what his mind had already told him would happen. Yes, this was reality. And he was number seven... The men addressed him and asked him how he was. A lie would be a better truth than what was actually happening. If he had caused what he had experienced he didn’t want the same fate to befall anyone else. Serrif instead fell silent, not saying anything at all. It should be apparent how he was doing. A smile came to his face. His knees burned as well as the palms of his hands.
“Pretty good. I eat two square meals a day. Get plenty of sleep and ponder the meaning of life.” He laughed audibly and then spoke again. “I think I am pretty close .”
A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.
When Serrif laughed, the Red Man joined in and the sound of their madness echoed through the barrack and across the open space beyond. The only people they got to see every day were their owners and other slaves. Nothing surrounded the camp, at least nothing notable enough to be called a village or even a farm. He’d remember that as well. Slaves had tried to escape... but they never got far. And they never found farmers or adventurers who helped.
Suddenly the Red Man cut is laughter off and his hand touched the whip at his side. “At least you’re still enlightened enough to joke around, well, isn’t that a good thing?” He grinned. Serrif wouldn’t see it, of course, because he was supposed to look down and avoid arising suspicion. If the Red Man smelled his thoughts of freeing his toys and murdering him and his companions, he wouldn’t have laughed or grinned anymore.
Anyway, the end result was the same. There was some more chatter as the Red Man liked listening to his own voice and dark humor. However, Serrif wouldn’t remember half of it if he thought back later. The words just passed by his ears in a cloud of vagueness. The next thing he noticed was the whispering of leather as the whip took off into the air.
As if demonstrating something – as if he hadn’t already demonstrated enough –, the Red Man’s boots lingered in front of Serrif for a while. Then they wandered to the left, towards the table covered by various vials and bottles. There were no descriptions. Security reasons. Once again, the humming made its way across the room and penetrated Serrif’s ears. The same old song every day. Then glass clinked against glass.
The boots came back and stopped in front of Serrif again. Then a hand appeared with a vial between pale fingers. The Red Man had fingers like a scholar, delicate and long. Another piece of memory. Another aspect of the reality he had returned to. “You know the procedure. Drink. Or else.” The vial was already opened. All that was required of Serrif was lowering his head and connecting with the liquid. It featured the color of mud, brown with a bit of venomous green.
Another memory gap. Serrif’s conscience returned at the verge of screaming, standing on the cliff that towered over a sea of infinite pain. The whip would come down any moment. Waves of darkness crushed his mind.
*
The sound of morning birds. The whisper of the tides. Rustling leaves. The warm humidity of another day in the wilderness on his skin. Fresh air, mixed with a bit of salt. When opening his eyes, he would see the ceiling of his tent, his blanket, his things arranged around him. As always.
However, the experience had added a surreal touch to the entire scene of a morning on Konti Isle. Questions and doubt would linger. What was real, and what wasn’t?
"Shard by shard she rearranges the world. It looks the same, she says, but it is not. It looks as they expect, but it is not." Gregory Maguire, "Wicked"
Reality was indeed a construct, and a feeble one at that. Melded and woven by those that ventured through it almost like lost vessels in an endless sea whose conditions varied on almost a whim. Whose very demeanor could switch faster than the blink of an eye. Life changing events happened here on these waters. Calm glass seas could and often were followed by life ending apocalyptic walls of water. Whose very breadth could swallow a ship and whose staggering height blocked out the sun. These events proposed an interesting predicament; sink or swim. Or possibly sink or swim and sink if you weren’t strong enough to endure the torment. The weakness in Serrif had left, much like a weak footed deckhand found themselves at the mercy of the sea. Weakness had been beaten out of him; tortured from his very body. But even in the roughest seas it was still possible that the strongest crew would find itself unable to endure. Even the bravest and most closely knit crew could find themselves short on the merciless seas ahead. Serrif was not prepared in the least for what was going to happen. No amount of mental preparation could prepare him for the break about to take place.
But here and now his eyes were on the floor. Not speaking anymore, not making eye contact. Praying that something would wake him from this nightmare; or deliver him back into himself. Maybe then he would find the Konti Isle again. But in this state he wasn’t sure what he was going to find here. What he thought he could find in those glass vials; if there was any comfort to be found at all. ‘Enlightened’ was a strange way to put what he was going through. Maybe through constant torture;, breaking and reforming of one’s reality they were indeed enlightened. If this held true then he was just beginning his journey; and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
The first wave came over the bow; the seas were rough, heavy whiteheads came rushing over bowing the boat.
The words then spoken by the Red Man were lost to him, gibberish almost as his vessel toiled in the endless abyss. He was breaking. But he knew lashing out here would only get him killed; and likely administered something really horrible. Maybe if he did nothing out of the ordinary he would get something that would send him back…yes he would very much like that…But as the saying goes, be careful what you wish for; because you just might get it…and then some. But he wanted Mura, he wanted Angelique, Blythe, Ildin and Lym. He wanted his mentors and those that had taught him so much. Even if it all was a lie; it was a comfortable lie to him now. One that he could indeed live with; if poison was how he had to obtain it then so be it. The whip cracked and he closed his eyes half expecting to be beaten just in good sport….He waited….nothing. he saw the boots before him…what now?
Clanking of vials, he heard glass. His heard jumped in a demented manner. Could it be poison? He was actually elated he was going to finally get what he wanted! There was no self reflection there. He wanted the vile liquid in his body. Maybe, just maybe he could be taken away from here. Or maybe he would finally find out if there really was a life after this. Maybe he was a God…if so he would surely smite these men off the face of the earth first…or maybe torture them like they did him...Serrif needed no goading on the subject of drinking the mixtures. He did as he was asked and the liquid passed his lips and burned down his throat….it was different than the others. It burned at first then felt cold…
The boat rolled nearly capsizing, crew scattering about bracing for impact…But there was hope, the winds were dying down…
His arms and legs were unable to move, he was again a demonstration. Beaten for entertainment. The whip was brought across him again and again. He could feel it but just barely…just barely. Time was irrelevant here. His blood boiled, burning its way through his veins carrying that poison through his body. He could feel himself again start to lose it. The world moved side to side as every wave of pain coursed through his body again and again. He laughed; and he knew not why. But his laughing was staggered by his stomach trying to empty itself, as if the poison was still there. Vile burning sensations filled his throat and mouth as stomach acid and bile passed past his mouth onto the ground. He was nearly choking. A spectacle to be had indeed. He lapsed…darkness gripped him…
The ship survived till morning, the sun came out. The bloodied crew relaxed and counted the dead. But the damage was done. Repairs had to be made or the ship would sink for sure.
His eyes shot open at the sound of birds…were they birds? He couldn’t even begin to think straight. Reality broke around him and he found himself on the Isle again. He smiled; he was here….HERE! But for how long? He woke and moved from his tent not bothering to put on boots. He could feel the warm sun on his bare chest, and the wind lick his baggy black pants. He was here…Where his mind wanted him to be. Yet he started to feel ill…Not knowing why he decided maybe someone could give him an answer of some kind as to what had just happened.
Reality had one enduring quality, it could be altered simply. One could see whatever they wanted, they could react however they wanted. But what one ‘saw’ as reality could be warped by life experience. Serrif didn’t know it yet but dormant long term poisons were indeed still active and were now doing interesting things to his mind.
The crew came out onto the deck and looked out over the semi glassy ocean praising their good fortune….only to see the clouds on the horizon rushing in…faster than anything before. Black dark clouds…there was no mercy here.
Serrif saw a Konti on the beach facing away from him looking out to the sea. Wearing practical training attire with their hair in a tight bun. It appeared to be Ildin…appeared…Carefully he approached and he was beginning to feel soothed…But again there was no mercy here. He had wished to be here in Mura, and here he was. But something was different. His body felt ill and his world gently began to sway; this is what a drunkard felt like? Possibly.
“What do you have planned for this morning Mistress?” He asked as he approached.
The ship met the storm; the winds kicked up again…another wave was coming…
Ildin turned around slowly; the very act itself was haunting in a way he couldn’t even begin to imagine. He was curious, but that curiosity would indeed be answered soon; but not in the way intended. Horror overcame him almost instantly. Ildin didn’t speak but her mouth opened as if to speak; but he couldn’t hear her. All gibberish again… but unlike the Red Man whose words were just unclear hers were faint whispers. Her skin was pale, deathly pale in the face. Her eyes were what drove him over the edge…White…pure white pits. Nothing else; just white marbles recessed into her eye sockets. Instantly his body reacted, his pulse skyrocketed and a warm rush of adrenaline filled him. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t find the air to do so. He jumped backwards, literally and fell on his back the white sands crimson red now. He scurried to his feet like a madman and took off in the opposite direction running as if demons were chasing him. What was…well he didn’t know. He only knew what he had just seen. He ran for his dear life…Not looking back, not even noticing that the world around him was indeed changing back to what he remembered. In his insane break of reality he wasn’t sure what was going on. He bee-lined into the forest and figured there he could find some sense of peace…
He dodged into the forest almost blindly. He would run until he couldn’t hear the ocean anymore…But that was going to be cut short. He was frantic, and when someone was frantic they made mistakes. His was in the form of forgetting to duck…meeting a large stumpy arm of a tree at full force with his head. His legs were taken out from under him and he found himself blacking out…where was his reality now? Was nowhere safe for him now? Was he doomed to pass between this Isle that would change on a whim and the slave camp? For now it seemed so. For the time being it seemed that his torture would indeed continue. When and how would it end? For now it seemed only in death would this end.
A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.
As he backed away from Ildin, acting on instinct because nothing else was left, he probably heard her shouting after him, but probably his mind also prevented it from slipping through into consciousness. The balance between conscious and unconscious was so precious, sometimes one overstepped the line. And then reality and dream blurred into each other.
The Silverwood welcomed him like an old friend. Although he spent most of the time at the beach, fishing, training with Ildin or training alone, making acquaintances... The Silverwood welcomed him just as much. Mura was his home and his safe haven, it seemed to say. A pattern of light and shadow covered his body, rapidly moving over his skin as he ran and coming to a stillstand as he fell over once again and didn’t get up. That second time, he didn’t. And everything went black.
*
Water made him choke. Salt would burn in his eyes, should he choose to open them too early, and stained his lips with its intense taste. A voice said: “What do you think you’re doing, man? Not even Avalis would understand that weird mood of yours!” It was rough and deep for a woman’s.
The first thing Serrif would see was a bowl made of clay and painted white as well as Ildin’s face hovering over it. Her usual face, a little disgruntled and strict, the cold look in her eyes he knew so well. No sign of white, no eerie feeling. She sighed, stood up from the kneeling position she had assumed before and gave him a few moments to gather his thoughts and give a coherent answer. Then, after letting the damp bowl fall into the backpack at her feet, she looked him up and down and folded her arms in front of her chest. “Anyway, we’ll have to skip training today. It seems like Mura is in grave danger and we need all help we can get. An incident... a dangerous man has appeared. He wants blood.”
With that first bit of information delivered, she turned and made her way through the trees, green speckled with the occasional white and pastel tone. Although she didn’t look back, it was clear from the way she carried herself and the way her white bun sat on her head that she expected Serrif to pick up the backpack and follow. Ah, the old habit. Not so obvious was the other expectation... Ildin had a feeling that everything she had taught her apprentice would serve him well in the situation they had been thrown into.
"Shard by shard she rearranges the world. It looks the same, she says, but it is not. It looks as they expect, but it is not." Gregory Maguire, "Wicked"
The storm billowed and clenched down hard on the vessel at sea. Rocking it hard side to side until the ship was brought around to meet the storm head on. Water washed over the slick wooden deck scattering the crew across the deck. They were clinging to anything they could find as not to be washed into the sea or chaos…that would mean certain death. But even among the chaos there was indeed hope that this too would pass…but whether or not the ship would survive the encounter was dependent on how the crew and captain navigated the treacherous and unforgiving seas.
That voice…it seemed so familiar. Yet it seemed unfamiliar at the same time. His hearing was just coming to. That could have something to do with it. Everything sounded like it was in a haze or something like that. Almost like his head was underwater and people were talking above him. But as his body finally became aware of where it was his senses sharpened. He really didn’t know what to expect when he woke up. Nor who to expect…what to expect. He didn’t even know what he had seen just then. Possibly some hallucination brought on from an unknown source. His mind flared to activity as he opened his eyes. His face was stinging some. That voice was matched in his mind. Yes he finally could tell who it belonged to. Suddenly remembering what had just happened when he matched the voice he slightly panicked inside. Knowing well that he could be faced with a difficult altering of his existing word that he remembered. Or that he still thought his mind had created for him.
But that left one interesting question. Why couldn’t he control what he was seeing? If it was his mind then why couldn’t he control what was going on in it? Why couldn’t he control what he was seeing? It didn’t make sense! But he knew he would have to deal with this or his mentality would completely fall apart. HE came to and saw Ildin. Just as he had remembered her, not as this strange illusion that he was still unsure of the origins. No she was the same Ildin he remembered. His body relaxed and he was pretty sore as well. That was to be expected though.
“Been feeling a little off Mistress.” That was the best answer he could come up with. He then stood and listened to her. Training was off? She never really cancelled training before now. But the reason she gave for it was what really worried him.
A dangerous man? Who could be so dangerous that Ildin would cancel training then drop him a bag as if she was expecting him to do something about it. Old habits do indeed die hard. So he did as he was expected to do and he picked up and shouldered the bag. What was going to happen now?
A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.
When Serrif stood, a wave of disorientation washed over his body causing him to stir and the vision of his mistress' Ildin looking worried as she leaned down was followed by a fleeting moment of feeling dampness upon his brow. But then it was gone, replaced by a surge of heat and cold that made him shudder as the sensation continued.
Ildrin's reply dwindled in his ears, "Remember no matter what you must be calm as we deal with this man..."
When Ildrin turned away the cries of the ship's slavemeister rang out and Serrif found the bag which he had shouldered slithered like a snake, encapsulating his body as darkness swirled around him. The fabric of the bag wound itself to his arms and too his wrists, binding him as they turned from cloth to metal manacles. A sound came as the old slaver's camp came into sharp focus, above him grabbing at his manacled wrists a woman with a stern sneer attempted to push him backwards.
Starting to realize the sensation he knew what was bound to occur... the "dunking' where they placed a slave and tied them to a board before leaning their head back into a pool of water. It was a technique to enforce order, as the half- drowned several slaves of the camp who were too tenacious to listen soon filled their minds with terror. Serriff's bleary perceptions noted a shadow fall on his face behind him as another woman tried to help push him down and back.
Back unto the waters that were soon to choke him. To fill his lungs water and clog his nostrils with water. The figures above him were fighting to bind him to the board, yet Serrif still had a single hand free.
Thank you all for the privildege of moderating, unfortunately with deaths in the family and ailing health I am retiring. All thread grades I had on my pc have been forwarded to founders and paragon, so expect them posted soon. It's been a mixed bag at times , but with all the good and the bad and mixed signals, I can honestly say: Thank you. Please support the next mods of sunberth as well as you have done me. [/color] Sunberth Forum | Sunberth Lore |Storyteller Guide and Requests |Ole Archie's Office|
Disorientation hit him hard, he didn’t know what was coming next he only knew that he had been following Ildin. He kept his composure and continued to follow. Trying his hardest to keep himself together. His mind swirled and he started to feel sick. His legs were strong, but his fortified supports dwindled…and failed him. He met the ground hard face first; his body shuttered. His body was failing him. What was happening to him now? His brain fired and a warm sensation traveled down his spine firing off every nerve as it continued. He shuttered and Ildin spoke to him again. He didn’t have time to speak. He was afraid if he opened his mouth he would vomit and drown himself. He took deep breaths and tried to compose himself for his mind’s travel back to the slave camp. He knew what was coming. Ildin looked worried; and she should be, he was losing grasp on reality. He still didn’t know what was and wasn’t real anymore. But she spoke telling him that he had to be calm as he dealt with this man. Was there something she knew that he did not? What was it? Did she know what was happening to him? What was happening to him and why did it just start now?
It had to be something he had done in the last few days…It had to be. His mind went through the possibilities. Did he get exposed to something in the temple? When he was working with Lym did he accidentally touch something that was now causing him this trouble? But as he though it all over it became apparent that it was more likely something that was done to him in the slaver camp. Something that they made him ingest. But the time to think came and went as his vision darkened and he came to again. Just like he suspected he was again at the slaver camp outside Ravok. He felt the manacles and it was all too familiar to him now. He knew that this wouldn’t end anytime soon. All that was left was to endure. He could do this; or so he believed he could. No! He had endured once before, he was sure this was some kind of dream, and he remembered escaping once. YES!
He remembered his escape now, he remembered the feeling of the woods under his foot as he ran. He remembered the feeling of elation as he put this camp behind him. This was true. He just knew it was. This place…felt real though. How could a simple dream feel so real? Even when compared to Mura each felt as real to him. He felt the splintering wood at his back, and it was just as real as the wonderful sands of Mura. How could one experience a dream this livid without it being real? Blythe! His mind fired as the scene then unfolded before him. He had a hand free. He threw it around and tried to use it to free himself. These slavers might be strong but they couldn’t overpower him easily. No, he would escape. He would escape from this place again. And maybe then he could figure out what was and was not real. Maybe….
But he had to escape here first. He struggled and this would likely earn him some sort of beating. But as always he would endure. He always endured. He could endure because he knew what awaited him. They would have to kill or disable him before he would stop fighting them; before he stopped trying to escape this place. He was sure that was the answer to all this. He would have to escape again. Well; he hoped that was the answer to all this. But what if…what if there was more to this then just a simple dream? What if it was more than that? He didn’t have the strength to struggle very long. His body was starved here. Purposely kept weak so he couldn’t retaliate. He didn’t plan to harm anyone; no he planned to escape. But he didn’t know exactly how he was going to do that just yet.
A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.
by Alice on May 29th, 2011, 6:41 pm 
