Flashback The Tides Give and Take

Trapped aboard the Sylvester Mercator's slave ship, Tim passes his time learning a valuable skill.

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An inland sea created by Ivak's cataclismic fury during the Valterrian, the Suvan Sea is a major trade route and the foremost hub for piracy in Mizahar. [lore]

The Tides Give and Take

Postby Timothy Mered on July 1st, 2014, 4:09 pm

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80th Winter 513AV


The ship rocked on the tide.

Rise.

Dip.

Rise.

Dip.

Creaking like an old woman rocking in her chair, Tim feared the ship's hull would give in on the next wave that hit it. Water trickled down the boards and occasionally a cold drop splashed in his neck, only to crawl down his spine, always out of reach. Chained like cattle for slaughter they sat on the lower deck. Four lines of a dozen men and women each, and then some more the slavers had picked up along the way, tied to poles and beams with whatever was at hand. Rope, string, a fishing net even. The swinging lantern cast a dim light upon the many faces. Some grimaced in defiance, others had long abandoned such idle hopes. The air no longer reeked of fear, and there were no more cries whenever the ship made a steep dip.

There were only murmurs. Whispers in tongues he didn't understand, or too faint to hear. He still remembered the bone-splitting fright he'd felt, the cold rush of betrayal and abandonment when Harley Fisher, his former employer and protege had handed him to the slavers for eighty gold-rimmed mizas. A small fortune to simple Harley, a bargain to Sylvester Mercator, the most slippery merchant the world had ever seen. He was a man of small stature, slightly bend over, though not by conscience or age. He would shuffle around, inspecting wares before he bought them, making the burly, giddy sellers think Sylvester Mercator would be easily tricked into overpaying. Yet the trick always ended up on their plate, quite peppered and far too sour. Sylvester would offhandedly mention some of his powerful friends before chatting his colleagues in trade up about their family, only to mention how horrible it would be if something bad were to happen to them. Now, his reputation preceded him and he simply had to point one of his wicked claws at the slaves he wanted to obtain them

"I'll have the boy," he had said, his thunderous eyes glancing over Tim.

"Excellent choice, Master Mercator. He'll last many, many years I suspect. Produce from our own grounds tends to last long and wo-"

A simple dismissive gesture was enough to shut the Sunberthian merchant up. "Don't play me, Kaufman," Sylvester had grumbled. "I am feeling generous today, 70 mizas, 5 more if he comes quietly."

Tim had registered a kick on his behind, to bring his attention to Sylvester's last few words.

"Like a lamb," Kaufman had promised, and so the deal had been done. The city, the very same docks he'd wandered about freely for years, looked at him with indifference as he joined the line that trudged aboard the ship. Not a soul had minded the dink in the dreadful procession, the small soul amidst far taller and stronger men.

No tears had crawled down his cheek, nothing much of emotion had registered at all that day. It was simple to just follow orders and his hollowed mind only produced empty thoughts. All he could wonder was why. But no answer came as the ship had lifted it's anchor and departed the lawless city for far more lawless terrain. The open sea, stretching to the horizon and beyond.

He was even denied looking back upon the stinking shykehole called Sunberth, even though it had been his stinking shykehole and he was damned proud of it too. The trapdoor that separated slaves from sailors had been shut bells before the anchor had been lifted. Speculation about their destination had buzzed among the slaves, but once it had been settled that Kenash was their most likely destination, the talk had simmered down and it had been mostly quiet ever since.

Trapped in that wooden cage, removed far from home, light and live, dark thoughts slipped into his mind. Like black vipers, they slithered through the cracks and poisoned his thinking. It had been his fault. He hadn't cared enough for his mother and he'd trusted Harley too easily. Slowly, as one day slipped into the next, his mother's face began to fade from his memory until one day, or night, it was hard to discern the two, he woke up and had forgotten entirely. All he could see was some gaunt, wrinkled face, a composition of those around him.
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Last edited by Timothy Mered on December 12th, 2014, 1:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Timothy Mered
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The Tides Give and Take

Postby Timothy Mered on November 27th, 2014, 9:59 pm

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Date here

He didn't know how much time had passed, but he supposed two or three, as that had been the amount of meals he'd gotten. Much to his surprise, the food they were given wasn't as rotten or stale as he had expected. An older man, nothing more than bones and scraggly grey hair held together by frail skin, devoured every meal like an animal, sending no small amount of praise to the ship's cook after he was done. Timothy had looked upon him with amusement first, but it had become clear to him most thought the man to be mad. There must be more to him then, or they wouldn't keep him alive.

Occasionally the ship would stop, slaves would be taken out and new ones would enter, causing the chain of people to shift. As it so happened Timothy found himself tethered next to the crazy old fellow, who seized him up with wild, dilated eyes.

"Hello young'un," he grinned, exposing a row of vale teeth.

"Hello," Timothy returned miserably. The old man, unfazed by Tim's quiet reluctance to speak, wrapped his arms around his knees and shuffled an inch closer to Tim. He reeked, even to a nose that had been forced to smell the filth of Sunberth ever since Tim had been born.

"Don't blame them too much, they're just making a living." The man's voice was lowm and it took Timothy a solid chime before he comprehend what the man had said. Snapping his head towards the shrunken bag of bones, Timothy scowled, "you want me to forgive them?"

"No," the old'un was smiling again, "not forgive. Just do not blame them. Their hearts and minds are impure, corrupted even. Some have brought it down upon themselves and have little remorse, they are beyond saving." The old man edged closer still, bringing his cracked lips to Timothy's ear. If he hadn't been chained, Tim would've moved away, not in the least because the man had scarcely any human features left in his hunched, crooked appearance.

"Don't blame them though. Those unfortunate souls who've been steered off the righteous path, seduced by their own greed, or perhaps even by the Prime Evil itself."

A shudder crawled down Timothy's spine as the husky whisper reached his ear. "You mean Rhysol?" Often his mother had warned him about the evil god, the enemy of humans and bringer of chaos. It would bring him nothing but misery and pain, she had said and Timothy couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the dark God had cursed him with this fate.

"Yes. But you can protect yourself against his influence, help others resist his temptations..."

Timothy frowned, a pained look came upon his face. He had considered the old man a fool, a traitor even for being thankful to their captors, yet there was a kind warmth in his voice that lured out his curiosity. "How?" he wondered quietly.

At this, the man resumed his former positioned, his bare head resting against the hull of the ship, his eyes closed and a gentle smile parting his lips. "Ah," he breathed, "through Yahal of course."

Recognition flared in the darkest crevice of his mind, but he couldn't quite place the name. "Who?"

"Yahal."

His brows creased into a frown and for a moment the hunger that gnawed at his stomach bit at his mind. "Who's Yahal?"

A bubble of laughter escaped the man's lip, an odd, but welcome sound in the semi-dark of the ship. "Yahal, my boy, is the candle that can't be extinguished, the light that leads us out of the dark. He is the Father of Fathers. He is light. He is justice. He is faith."

None the wiser, Timothy send a puzzled look at the beaming man who's joy and warmth was almost tangible, he pressed a wrinkled finger against Timothy's chest. "He is a God, my boy, and he will always listen to those with a pure heart. Pray to him and be cleansed!"
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Timothy Mered
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Race: Human
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