Speech
Thoughts
29th Trial of Cylus, Arc 718
Continued from here...
It took 90 slaves to man the 15 oars on either side of the galley frigate Tyrant that bore them to Etzos. Of course, there were more slaves than the ones manning the oars. The overseers granted them each four hours shifts for sleeping, whereupon they would rest beneath the bench of the next slave up. In the later hours, if a slave had to relieve themselves they either had to do it on the cusp of a break. Else, they would make them to do it in the middle of their shift, showering some poor unfortunate lying beneath their bench with their filth. It was a terrible prospect to anyone. To those accustomed to treatment as chattel, it was a mere fact of life. From the master's point of view, it was necessary to weed out the sick and weak. Many slaves got thrown overboard for the sea creatures plying the waters around them for food.
Woe managed to control most of his urges, thus far. In either an expression of good will to his fellows, or else a lingering trace of personal pride and decorum.
"I only got three years more of transportation, then I'll be back in Andaris." Woe's neighbor said, as a way of encouraging himself through the arduous task. The torturer could hear him over the din of the drums resounding from either end of the ship's keel. Their overseers were burly and well fed by the look of them, but reflected the hopelessness of many of the slaves. Their faces were masks of indifference. Some of them even wore literal masks, as a way of intimidating the men and women under their charge. "Or I'll look for my fortune elsewhere. I'm still only twenty-seven, I can make something of myself..."
"Why were you sentenced for transportation?" Woe asked, curious.
The young haggard man replied, "Rape and banditry." He shrugged, "I've been on transport duty for seven years."
The torturer looked away from the young man, who turned to face him as they continued to row at the clip dictated by the drumbeats. "I'm Yeoman. Who are you? Your accent sounds familiar."
"I'm Woe, from Andaris."
A sharp crack of the cat-o-nines snapped at the two speakers. "Back to work, no talking slaves!" One of the overseers passed them by, put them off for more conversation after that point.
"I'm no slave!" Yeoman muttered loud enough for Woe to make his words out. The overseer's back was to them at that point, so he didn't hear them.
"I've known many people sentenced to transportation. You're lucky some guardsman didn't smuggle you into slavery." Woe muttered in the same cadence and tone as Yeoman. He was trying to keep his volume down to evade detection by any other overseers. "Still, most die on ships like this before serving their sentence..." Woe had a game going here.
Ever since his expulsion from Augiery, and traded to a slaver out of Athart, he'd been dreaming and thinking. Wheels were turning in his mind to find a scenario where he might regain his freedom once more.
It took 90 slaves to man the 15 oars on either side of the galley frigate Tyrant that bore them to Etzos. Of course, there were more slaves than the ones manning the oars. The overseers granted them each four hours shifts for sleeping, whereupon they would rest beneath the bench of the next slave up. In the later hours, if a slave had to relieve themselves they either had to do it on the cusp of a break. Else, they would make them to do it in the middle of their shift, showering some poor unfortunate lying beneath their bench with their filth. It was a terrible prospect to anyone. To those accustomed to treatment as chattel, it was a mere fact of life. From the master's point of view, it was necessary to weed out the sick and weak. Many slaves got thrown overboard for the sea creatures plying the waters around them for food.
Woe managed to control most of his urges, thus far. In either an expression of good will to his fellows, or else a lingering trace of personal pride and decorum.
"I only got three years more of transportation, then I'll be back in Andaris." Woe's neighbor said, as a way of encouraging himself through the arduous task. The torturer could hear him over the din of the drums resounding from either end of the ship's keel. Their overseers were burly and well fed by the look of them, but reflected the hopelessness of many of the slaves. Their faces were masks of indifference. Some of them even wore literal masks, as a way of intimidating the men and women under their charge. "Or I'll look for my fortune elsewhere. I'm still only twenty-seven, I can make something of myself..."
"Why were you sentenced for transportation?" Woe asked, curious.
The young haggard man replied, "Rape and banditry." He shrugged, "I've been on transport duty for seven years."
The torturer looked away from the young man, who turned to face him as they continued to row at the clip dictated by the drumbeats. "I'm Yeoman. Who are you? Your accent sounds familiar."
"I'm Woe, from Andaris."
A sharp crack of the cat-o-nines snapped at the two speakers. "Back to work, no talking slaves!" One of the overseers passed them by, put them off for more conversation after that point.
"I'm no slave!" Yeoman muttered loud enough for Woe to make his words out. The overseer's back was to them at that point, so he didn't hear them.
"I've known many people sentenced to transportation. You're lucky some guardsman didn't smuggle you into slavery." Woe muttered in the same cadence and tone as Yeoman. He was trying to keep his volume down to evade detection by any other overseers. "Still, most die on ships like this before serving their sentence..." Woe had a game going here.
Ever since his expulsion from Augiery, and traded to a slaver out of Athart, he'd been dreaming and thinking. Wheels were turning in his mind to find a scenario where he might regain his freedom once more.
