To Serve is To Live (Levi + Closed)

[Serkaan]

Serkaan 1st of Fall 511AV The smells and sounds of the slave market pervaded everything, there was no escaping the odors of sweat mingled with blood. You could not hide from the broken hearing wailing of a mother as her daughter was sold or the snap of a whip as it ripped open the back of a disruptive slave. This was greed at its peak and there is no escaping from its vile grasp, everything is touched and contaminated by its presence. The laughter of the slavers and their customers as they discussed the fates of hundreds of men, women, and children fell muted and harsh in the plaza as it rebounded against the writhing movement of flesh and bone. The slaves were moved and prodded like livestock in a country fair, with no regard to gender or race. Hate and despair permeated the very air, but it was ignored and suppressed so that the selling may continue unhindered. Serkaan let his head rest against his chest, he was mentally and physically exhausted. The ropes that bound his wrists cut into his arms and with every movement they cut deeper. His ankles were bruised from the iron shackles that held him firm to the platform of the slave auctioneer. He had been standing since before the sun had risen, his owner had wanted to get his wares out before his competition and had achieved that at the cost of those doing the waiting. Every buyer had quickly passed over Serkaan, while he was exceptionally fit and strong, the hate that oozed out of his very being was all the deterrent that seemed to be necessary. Nobody was willing to risk buying a slave that exalted in death and pain, a slave that hated his masters very existence. At least so it seemed.

[Leviathan]

But, was it true? Was it true that Serkaan's hateful glares drove away potential customers? Or was is, perhaps, something more devious that was lurking about. It was heard through whispers, someone had been looking over Serkaan. His current master and slaver had made a gamble trying to beat competition, and today it had paid off. There were many well known people in the market today, and none of them were known for being poor or unwealthy. A man strode up to the stage that Serkaan, along with several unnamed others, stood upon in their nudity. Their skins were sensitive from the exposure to the sun, and if it hadn't been for a casual cool breeze, they would have all gone next-to-mad. This man was hard to ignore, the strange leather robe, the faint smell of decay lingering about his person, the gloves that hid his hands and reached up deep into those large baggy sleeves. Most of all, his face was hidden from view by a strange, oversized bird-shaped mask. He was, as most Sunberth citizens would recognize, Doctor Petricious. A man known for being skilled in medicine, and as dangerous and cruel as they could be. "I'll buy this specimen. Forty "gold shanks" for it." Of course, it was obvious by Serkaan's forced nudity that he was a man, but "it" was a general term for slave here. Man, woman, Isur, Human, Dhani, Kelvic. They were all "it". It was rare for Dastana to step out of her own small ever-notoriously-vicious portion of the city, but today was a rare occasion. The woman, small and ever intimidating in her scarred face and never smiling lips looked up at Serkaan. There was a way she looked at him, sized him up, that could have told her ideas for the man. "I need another grunt. I lost three yesterday, and another not ten days before. It looks strong, fit, unhealthy but that can change. Forty five "skulls" for this one." Wicked bargaining, harsh titles. The Doctor Petricious slowly turned his head, which was ever so obvious by the shifting of that birdlike mask he wore, to look at Dastana. They had a mutual view of each other. Both were dangerous, both were useful. They weren't allies, but they both had a mutual survival in the same part of town. Still, both wanted what they wanted. In Sunberth, you never gave up what you wanted without a struggle. "Do you even understand how much research of such a specimen is lacking? The study of muscle growth, it could be so much better understood with this man under my scalpel. Fifty-five!" "I don't give a rat's ass about your work Dr.Petricious. If I don't get more warriors, my streets will be overrun by the cur of foreigners. My offer, seventy gold skulls on that one." The conversation went on for a long moment as Serkaan just stood there. His body ached, almost to the point where he would have gladly accepted any final buyer to take him, regardless of the circumstance he'd be put in. It wasn't for a long moment or two that he realized another figure in the crowd that stood out from the commonfolk. Tall Johnny. A man that was of considerable height and intriguingly well-trimmed mustache. A man that valued his own appearance almost as much as he valued business. "One-hundred and twelve shanks for it." Although Petricious's expression could not be read, an audible sigh was heard echoing from his mask as he turned to see Tall Johnny standing behind him. He was defeated, and he knew this. Dastana's fist clenches as the scars across her cheek wrinkled from the vivid scowl on her face. "Dammit Johnny. What d'you need it for? It's not like you are short of volunteers for your business." Dastana didn't actually know this, she never went to Tall Johnny's, or anywhere remotely close to it. Still, she was correct. There were plenty that would take a few coins to get their face beaten in. Why did he need a personal slave? Tall Johnny merely shrugged as he kept his eyes on Serkaan. Obviously, something about this man intrigued Johnny. He was spending, after all, only more than a hundred mizas for him.

[Serkaan]

Serkaan Serkaan stood still in his shame and hatred, his body framed by sunlight and glistening with a thin covering of sweat. His shoulders ached from constriction and his legs trembled from the lack of movement. It was a feeling more than anything that told Serkaan that he was being watched, a scent reminiscent of death itself filled his nostrils. Someone that either worked in a graveyard or was a habitual murderer who didn't clean himself was on the stage. When the man spoke Serkaan had to force himself not to laugh at the trivial etiquette of the slave market. The man had spoken about it, and it would be painfully obvious to anyone who wasn't completely blind that this specimen had something hanging between the legs, firml placing "it" in the "him" category. But for now, he and all others were "it's". They were nameless, genderless, raceless, and generally speaking worthless. The second voice that spoke was that of a woman, a cold calculating bitch of a woman, but a woman nonetheless. Serkaan seemed to have drawn quite the crowd of wealthy bidders, but for seemingly different reasons. The first for dissection and medical work, the second for the myriad of street fights that took place throughout the city. And Serkaan wasn't sure which buyer would turn out better for himself. The first offered a potentially quick death, an escape from his torment. The second, a chance to strike out with his fists. To vent the hate that built and simmered in his heart and soul. But it was the third voice that struck a chord of interest in the crowd and in the slaves tied to the stage. The man had a refined voice, and a voice that apparently was backed by a petching well stuffed purse. And apparently the voices name was Johnny. Serkaan finally raised his eyes, hate mingled with reluctant curiosity shone out as he met the calculating and mocking eyes of his new master. Wondering what would become his service, what would his life become now.