Languish

As open as an opened can of worms.

1st of Saun 717

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Rafael Warrick
Approved Character
Posts: 311
Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2016 3:47 am
Race: Human
Profession: Noble, Aspiring Rebel
Renown: 58
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Wealth Tier: Tier 1

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Languish

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1st Saun, 717


Had he paid more attention in his studies, Rafael would have known what awaited him beyond the great stone gate. He’d have known that the bridge over the Oceanic River was like a crossing between worlds. The one he came from - harsh but indifferent, and the one he stepped into - dark and unjust. The carvings on the wall told dazzling tales, with a stark recurring theme of the female Naer conquering their male foes.

He led the company of captured travelers as the stout Naer at the front tugged him along like a dog on a leash. Each of the captured men responded differently to their new life as the ventured further and further into the dark. Some resisted and desecrated the air with curses while others filled the caverns with a lamenting song of cries and whimpers. While his disbelief was as great as any other, Rafael kept his lips sealed. He would not grant his captors the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. They might have taken his belongings and put him in chains, but they would never be able to collar his mind – a mind already at work, already doing it’s very best to remember every detail of the way in.

Soon enough they climbed up a wet, rocky slope before the city of Augiery loomed before them. Like a great monster rising from a lake it appeared, rising up and further up from the cavern floor, swimming in baleful torchlight and the company halted for a few trills to take in the city of stone.

“Take a good look at your new home, Txeri,” the woman who held his chain spoke to all of them. “This will be the only time you’ll it from this distance.”

For the shortest trill, Rafael wished that he might have the courage to throw his weight against the sneering petite and topple her over the edge of the precipice. In the end, his instincts won out and he remained still, unable to bring himself to his own end, no matter what awaited him in the cave city. Hope was a treacherous domain, his father had always said, both capable of instilling great endurance and futile suffering. He was unsure which kind swelled up in his chest before another tug saw him move on.
--

Up close the cave city was even more dazzling than it had appeared from afar. There were many steps leading up and down and he couldn’t spot the end of the buildings in either direction. Aside from a few cursory glances, no one seemed to pay him much mind and within a handful of bits they arrived in the aptly named Slave Pits. The dour looks plastered on the faces of the slaves that scampered out of the way told Rafael everything he needed to know, though his mind could not yet rationally comprehend it. Everywhere he looked he saw the same face, the same wild longing, the same brokenness, the same despair. How long would it be before he too carried that expression?

The Naer leading the group whistled between her teeth and a strong, bald man with tatoos crawling up his exposed chest came rushing forth to offer his services. Rafael spotted a bronze collar around the man’s strong neck.
“Titho, show the new ones around,” the petite Naer commanded him as she handed over the chain tied to Rafael’s collar. The strong, pale slave offered a bow in reply before hooking the chain to a nearby pole.

“Let me be clear,” his gruff voice boomed as he marched past the column of miserable newcomers, “you’re all equal here. You’re all scum, dirt, and muck here. Forget your dreams, forget your fathers and mothers, cast aside the vile thoughts that poison your mind. You will not escape. You will never escape. You will work, and you will work well, or you’ll taste my whip. Am I clear?”

A few reluctant nods came, but Rafael wasn’t the only one to remain still and silent. The next moment, Titho flew up into his face, his breath nearly suffocated him as the strong slave repeated his thunderous words. “Am I clear?”
“Yes…” the weak answer came.

“AM I CLEAR?” Titho barked again and a few drops of spittle splashed onto Rafael’s face.

Titho was about to shout again when Rafael grimaced. “You’re very fucking loud.”

A trill of silence was all it took for him to realize the graveness of his mistake.

“Congratulations kid,” Titho sneered, “you’ve just volunteered yourself for latrine duty. Unless you have some other witty remark to make?”

Heat rose to his cheeks as he matched Titho’s seething stare with one of his own. All this time, all this time he'd stayed quiet, kept his head down. He could no longer muster the discipline to do so.

“You have bad breath,” he hissed through his teeth.
Last edited by Rafael Warrick on Wed Aug 23, 2017 7:19 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 830
Life is a dark comedy, only you're not in on the joke.
User avatar
Rafael Warrick
Approved Character
Posts: 311
Joined: Wed Jun 08, 2016 3:47 am
Race: Human
Profession: Noble, Aspiring Rebel
Renown: 58
Character Sheet
Plot Notes
Wealth Tier: Tier 1

Contribution

Milestones

Miscellaneous

Events

Languish

Image
1st Saun, 717

A little while later...
It was hard to tell how many bells had passed since his encounter with Titho who, by the looks of things, seemed to be in charge of at least a section of the slave population. One thing had become immediately clear, it wasn't just the Naer he'd have to worry about. Back in Warrick he'd been disciplined once or twice as a child for small misdemeanours, but rarely had he suffered anything beyond a slap on the wrist. Often, he'd simply been tasked with cleaning out the stables and if he'd been particularly bad, he'd have to do the pig pens as well. In this vile city however, he'd been smacked across the face and tasked with cleaning up human shit. Worse, none of his captured travel companions dared to even look at him anymore, fearing that his bad reputation might rub off on them.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he toiled to clean out the slurry pit where the slave populace pissed and shat out their sparse rations. Fortunately the Naer had possessed the sense to locate the cesspools a fair distance downward and close to the water surrounding the city. The pits contained a mixture of sand and shit that had to be dug up and loaded into wheelbarrows before being dumped into the water. Upon the advice of a friendly biqaj slave, Rafael had discarded his shirt and hid it in a crevice of rock. It was hard to stay entirely clean in this line of work and he had not intention of having shit stains all over his only remaining shirt.

While he loaded up another wheelbarrow with the reeking mixture, a small, rattish looking man came up at his side, his skin caked with dirt, bruises and other dark tones that Rafael didn't wish to dwell on. The man started to talking, in quick, hushed tones, but Rafael merely stared back in confusion to which the other settled on perhaps the only word of common he knew. "Trade! Trade!"

The man's intentions became clearer when he tugged his own, ragged little shirt and repeated the hallowed words: "trade!"

But before Rafael could shoo him away, another one of the slaves returned with an empty wheelbarrow and exchanged a quick look between them before barking something in the foreign tongue at the ratty little man. Before long, the rat had scurried off and the other, a human by the looks of it, motioned for Rafael to fill up the wheelbarrow.

"What did he want?" Rafael asked as he glanced over his shoulder to where the rat had vanished behind a pillar of rock.

"Trade, I imagine," the other replied in a gruff voice, clearly none to keen on conversation. He was of a slender but strong build, the sort of wiry toughness that seemed common among the more veteran slaves, those of them that weren't seven foot tall hulking giants at least.

"I don't have anything to trade," Rafael retorted as he scooped up a heavy load of the vile mixture and dumped it into the rusty wheelbarrow. The man gave him a quizzical look and there was a hint of recognition in his eyes.

"New huh?" He snorted. "Let me tell ya, everyone's got something to trade. As long as you have limbs, you've got something to trade."

"Limbs?" The stench of the shitpits and Titho's blow to his face had left him feeling a little light in the head, but nothing could quite compare to the nausea that rose up at the other's implied meaning. "What for?" he ventured to ask.

"If you think it's bad to work down here, just wait until they half your rations, or take them away altogether. People will do anything to survive. The faster you learn that, the better off you'll be."

Rafael turned his head away in disgust. Surely the man was joking. He couldn't imagine the Naer would permit slaves to carve each other up like cakes. Keen to switch subject, Rafael extended his hand to the stranger who stared at it for a few trills before giving it a rough shake. "Barrow," he grumbled after Rafael had offered his name. "You're lucky you came across me. If you'd tried to shake hands with Knuckler or Scaby, they'd have beaten you black and blue, and there ain't no one who's going to risk their neck for a new boy. And for the record, what you did with Titho," Barrow clicked his tongue, "not the smartest move."

Rafael retracted quickly retracted his hand and resumed his digging work. "I am not going to bow down to him."

"That's what they all say. I won't bend the knee, I won't let them cunts rule over me, I won't be commanded, I'll show the bitches... that, or some other shite. Those are usually the first ones to go. If you had any sense, you would bow down to Titho and make him your ally. Same as Ratty."

"The trader?"

"Aye. He doesn't look like much, but he can get his hands on almost anything, if you have something to offer in return that is."

"I didn't understand what he was saying."

"Then learn to," Barrow answered gruffly. "Come on, put some back into it, they don't pay us to sit around-"

"They don't pay us at all," Rafael sneered to which he received a hard but friendly pat on the back that almost saw him trip over his feet and fall into the shit-pit. A smile appeared on Barrow's hardened face and together they resumed cleaning out the pit until the sound of a bell summoned them back up to the higher levels of the city. Numbered about a dozen in total, the shit-workers sauntered into a small, plain building where a few barrels filled with icy water allowed them to wash the grime off their skin. He looked around at the other slaves, wondering what each of them had done to earn shit-duty.
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Life is a dark comedy, only you're not in on the joke.
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