Ní Turais deireadh. (Em'ika)

[phrostphyre]

Information on a large herd of cattle from a trusted informant had brought Convel to the Ramr River. Surveying the plains, he saw no cattle. It was noon. He would have to being riding back to his camp soon, or risk being lost in the twilight dusk, when there were no stars, and no light. Patting Donas' nose, he whispered in Gaelic and looked out upon the plains once more. Brooding blue eyes glared like hawk eyes at the emptiness. No cattle, or horses. He would have to pick up at least two horses somewhere along the way back to a town to offset this loss. He shrugged, then swung himself onto Donas and placed his heels into Donas' ribs. Donas snorted at this, and took off at a walk.

A hole in the ground, a little larger than the hoof of Donas, took him out from under Convel and sent them both tumbling. Swearing, Convel sat up and checked the bump on his head; no blood. Donas was his next concern as anger raged through him. What damned fool animal built a nest like that where it could lame, or kill a horse?! Crawling to Donas, Convel cursed the whole way. He felt along each leg; only one was broken, and not not badly. He helped Donas stand with much heaving, shoving, and cursing. The horse whinnied when he tried to put weight on the bad leg. Convel took his shirt off, exposing his pale skin to the sun; he would roast, get freckles, and they would disappear in two months. Ripping the shirt into pieces, Convel took his dirk and laid it flat against the leg. He tied the shirt rags around it, making a rough splint, then began leading Donas towards the nearest town. A good ten miles.

Dazed from the sun and giving Donas the water, Convel wandered around, lost. Two men popped up in front of him; whispering, they took him in.

"'E'll fetch a good price, ya?"
"Oh ya brother, oh ya. His horse and weapons too. We be rich men, but the boss be killing us if we take off with crazy here."
"So we take him to boss man, ya?"
"Ya..."

"'Scuse me? You two fish don't look like fishies to me. Have ye got any water, or better yet, whiskey? Fishies should share the water-grrhghgh!" Convel was cut off by a spear butt to the face and a similar one to the stomach, doubling over, he collapsed and was promptly shackled and led to a group of similarly chained wretches. One stood out to Convel, even in his dazed state of mind. A bronzed female sat drinking from a canteen that was being passed around. She was beautiful, or so Convel thought. Shrugging, he sat away from the group and stared at the plains. Semi-naked in only a kilt and tartan thrown over his left shoulder, he had been stripped of all weapons but his sgian dubh; none of the slavers had wanted to get that close to his red-gold fuzzy knees. He waited for everyone else to drink, but when a man attempted to grab the water from him as it became Convel's turn, he struck the man in the face with his fist, then again with the iron shackles. The man stood back up and they began fighting, only to be forced apart by the spears of their captors. Growling, Convel sat back down and drank a few sips before passing the water on. He would wait till night to escape. By himself. He could move silently and quickly if he needed. Hindered by others, not at all.

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

A deliberately icy silence filled the campsite.

It felt like the proverbial calm before the storm. At this point, I didn’t even have the strength to snarl, let alone try and break free of my bonds. The hours and hours of shrieking, biting, breaking and howling had done little but allow me a wide berth from the evil men that had captured me. Even after I had appeared to calm down, they had the intelligence to let me be; only disturbing my silent rage to give me a water canteen. I clung to it now, my short fingernails digging into the leather. I could do nothing but sit there and curse the men, the chains that they had tied me with and my own inability to escape capture early that morning. To make matters worse, there was no one I could call to for help- the trees had been cleared away in this part of the forest, and all the animals, large or small, had been frightened off by the humans’ movement.

I’d been hunting when they arrived. A male aurochs, which I prized for its horns, had killed a bear but was injured in the battle. I’d followed heavy footprints and droplets of thick blood out of the foothills of the Spine, my home, and towards the Ramr River. I came here often, as the only humans who frequented these parts were harmless travelers. I’d managed to catch up to the aurochs safely, but I hadn’t been paying close enough attention to my surroundings. Something frightened it, which enraged it, and it had caught sight of me before I could let off an arrow. I’d been forced to spring up a tree to avoid being slashed by the aurochs’ horns, unwittingly making myself a target for some slavers in the early morning light. The creature was brought down, and myself shortly afterwards after being pelted with arrows and then hit in the right shoulder.

The injury stung at the very memory, and I licked my lips and growled softly, which increased in volume when one of the slavers, a vicious, unintelligent broad simply called ‘Bone’, snatched the canteen from me. She poured at least half of its contents into her gullet, half grinned, half sneered at me, and passed it along to a young man who was shivering despite the warm summer air. I bared my teeth, but knew better than to spit again. I had what was likely a very ugly red mark across my cheek from the last time I’d done so. Inhaling deeply, I glanced at the crude poultice placed on my arrow wound, knowing it was likely infecting it rather than healing it. However, it had lessened the pain, which I was grateful for. The last slave to wail too much had had his head lopped off.

One of the female slavers had examined me and announced that I still had my maidenhead, immediately labelling me as expensive, which also thankfully allowed me to escape being indulged with by the male slavers. At the same time, however, it meant that I would be guarded more carefully. I would have to wait until nightfall before attempting anything. That gave me several hours to rest and regain my strength. I settled back, making myself more comfortable but also keeping a wary gaze on the others, guard and prisoner. After the water was handed around, little of interest happened except a fight between two slaves, a hulking Nomad and a foreigner with red-gold hair and a strange accent. He wouldn’t stop ogling me. I hissed vehemently every time he did so.

“Has Jungle Princess cooled off yet?” came the voice of the slavers’ boss, a tall, gaunt but still attractive man who was oddly calm and poised for a criminal.
“Maybe, sir. She’s acting a bit like a wounded animal, now. I wouldn’t risk touching her.” That was a Nomadic guard whose name I hadn’t caught.
“And the Alban?”
“Drunk, stupid, or sun-baked. Hard to tell. Fine pony he’s got, though.”
“Well, Spook says he’s only got one more grunt to haul in.” The boss stretched and exhaled. “You can call the others back. Slim pickings in this region.”
“Count on it, sir.”

The last prisoner was brought in as I was trying to look for weak spots in the chains binding me. Simple brute pulling hadn’t worked, only leaving gashes in my wrists, and every scrap of clothing, let alone my weapons, had been removed when I’d first been brought to the camp. Immediately afterwards, I’d been plunged into the river, scrubbed ruthlessly, been examined for any sicknesses or deformities, and clothed in some grey sack that smelled like death. Someone told me that the last person to wear it died last night. The feel of human articles only increased my fear and anger. Therefore, I hardly noticed when the female elf was brought in. She was clothed in the same grey filth as the rest of us, but was so queenly and calm about it that she might as well have been wearing silk. Although she had altered her features to appear human, her arrogance, striking beauty, and the air of magic surrounding her was very familiar to me.

I automatically tensed, feeling a growl rise up within my throat, but she took no notice as she was deposited on the grass, glancing around and ignoring the leers and hoots of the male slavers. She didn’t have her maidenhead, then. Well, elves did enjoy surrounding themselves with many dozens of partners. I forgot my repulsion as I saw several of the slavers returning, some with slain animals and others empty-handed. I couldn’t help but wonder what slavers were doing in uninhabited territory, and so close to the Spine to boot. They hunted their own kind, only taking my trees and my animals for food. This had lessened my hatred somewhat, but they were still humans, and they had captured me. However, it appeared that I would have to wait to find out. We would be loaded into the caravans soon, and I planned on giving them living hell when they tried to move me.

Words;; 1028
Muse;; Not so bad!
Thoughts;; I only write with Honovi once upon a blue moon so I haven't gotten into her character. But still, I kinda like it!

[Kite]

*Ava sighed as the gray sack that the slavers had forced upon her after her capture scratched against her. Its not that she was opposed to human clothing, its just that it was uncomfortable human clothing. She'd rather be in her own clothing, on her own way. But, Ava guesses that it just wasn't meant to be. It happens, she guesses.

As she is thrown in, she just sits up and looks around at those around her. There were two that stood out, but the rest were just average slave fair. These men would get rich with the two of them along with her, and they could basically just give the rest away.

The first that he noticed was the wild woman in the middle of the area, yanking on her chains. She seemed to be a mixture between the two races. Exotic for both, a real treat for the markets. She was a hybrid, Ava believes. This from her appearance and the air around her. Wild and not at ease. While that wasn't much to go on alone, she was handling things differently than most in the cages. Most were scared or accepting and despairing. However, she and the other oddity were just defiant and uncomfortable.

The second oddity was an Alban. They were large men, and generally fighters and family men. Albans were largely raiders and farmers, from what she understands. This man had been described to him from two sources, one being his brother Daran and the other being one of her best friends, Don Myth. He wasn't stupid and he could hold his own, but he had a silly accent according to them. She would see for herself.

However, as she had ignored the guards and studied the group she was with, the guards had oogled her and one was approaching. She looked at him and just stared as he grew closer. They knew she was not a virgin, though this was not a time to be raped by pigs. He held up shackles and tried to look innocent, but Ava disregarded that and spoke softly and calmly to the man in total contrast to her words, as if she was speaking casually.*

Bitch, I will cut you if you try anything...

*He looked at her oddly, shrugged, and continued on. Ava sighed softly and stood, submitting to the shackles that are put onto her, as well as the rancid tongue running up her neck and the whispered promises into her ear of the best night of her life. Somehow, she doubted his promises. It probably would be the worst, if she decided to deal with that.

She would probably be long gone by then, however. With the other two strange ones in with her, if she had her choice. Possibly even with the whole lot of the slaves, though that would take much more trouble than she wanted. She could only wait and see, and wait for her chance to approach the others.*

[phrostphyre]

Convel had two choices, right now. He could submit and lead them along, believing he was a willing slave, or he could threaten them with numerous, painful, slow deaths. The first appealed to his sanity in that it would make his escape easier. The second appealed to his instinct, his anger, and his nature. A brief moment of thought, lasting about thirty seconds, and he was standing. He'd start off with some threats, then move on to his lineage, to prove his word.

"If ye don't let me free now, I will hunt every one of ye down, kill ye, and feed ye tae my wolf. I will skin ye alive, while vultures peck your eye balls out and ravens feed on your liver. Your kidneys shall fall to the mice, as ants chew their way through your digestion system. Afterwards, I shall bury you up to your neck and leave you in the sun, a living, breathing, rotting corpse!" Convel let his eyes roam across the slaves sitting and doing nothing; the elf and the 'Jungle Princess' were ignoring him. This meant that they showed no interest in his vengeance; he would set the Jungle Princess free. She might need help, but sparring with a slave elf in Uru' Baen had showed him elves, even female, needed help in no department. Except feelings.

"I am Convel MacTire, son of Brian, son of James, son of Brian, son of Fergus, son of Seamus, son of Sean, son of Padraig, son of William, son of William, son of William, son of Convel, son of Ian, son of Ewan, son of Alexander, son of Michael, son of John, son of Simon, son of Angus, son of Dougal, son of Collum, son of Daniel, son of Convel, son of William, son of Conor, son of Sawney, son of Patrick, the son of Kelly, the son of James, the son of Brian, the son of the first Convel! I am not some paltry fool Alban, to be captured and sold. I am a warrior. I am a fighter. Holding my chain shall be like trying to hold greased lightning! I will kill you all. This is a solemn promise, given in my name. You have been warned." Satisfied with himself, Convel sat back down and waited for nightfall. His sgian dubh tucked safely in his boot where no one could see it, his escape was assured.

~*~
Four hours later, the sun set in a glorious blaze of red and orange, like a blood splattered sky. Turning his head away from it, Convel snatched the sgian dubh from his boot and inserted into the lock of the chains on his ankles. Pushing the hilt down against the lock, he heard a snap. He took his blade out and placed it in the lock on his wrist. Applying pressure, he waited for the snap. It didn't come. Groaning, he reached into his sporran and took out a fish hook. Bending it, but keeping the tip just curved slightly, he had a makeshift lock pick set. Placing both blade and fish hook into the lock, he jiggled the blade against the hook and heard a click. Convel MacTire was free! Now to wait for the most of the slavers to fall asleep.

An hour later, stars twinkled at the Alban as he slithered along the ground like a snake. His tartan sett helped him blend into the dead grass. The red-gold of his hair helped to break up his outline even further as moved to a tent. He had heard one saying his sword, dirk, and targe were placed there. He wanted them back. The tent loomed in front of. Convel moved to the back. Drawing his sgian dubh, he used it to make a slit in the cloth in which he could fit. Two men were sleeping on cots. One had his dirk and targe, the other his sword. Working quickly, he slid his knife across their throats, then stood back as their blood sprayed the tent in red. Shaking his head, Convel took his weapons back. Buckling the targe on, he lifted a torch and stepped out the front of the tent. He had promised them death. Death was what he was bringing.

Stepping to the next one, he touched the torch to it, making sure to let the tent catch fire before moving to the next one. A certain helpful cadaver had also allowed Convel to find the key to the locks of the captured slaves. Turning, he moved to the bronzed woman. Fitting the key into the lock, he turned it. It broke. Growling in Gaelic, he placed the spike of his targe in between a link in the chains on her wrists. Convel did the same with the ankle chains.

"Hold these chains tight. I don't want to be stabbing ye with the spike of my targe, aye?" Once she moved and the chains were tight, he began moving forward, dragging the woman with him as he strained against the chains, trying to use his shield as a wedge against the chains. Veins throbbed in his neck and arm as muscles forced themselves to work even harder. Convel's breath came in ragged sucking sounds as he pushed. Three minutes later, the chains popped with a snap and he pitched forward. Rolling, he came up and sucked in air greedily. Convel drew his sword and set looking for Donas and a horse for the woman.

[Ze Flying Wraithetti Monstress]

The day certainly took its time to pass. After the slavers had regrouped, everyone was placed into the caravans with some minor setbacks- I’d kicked, screamed, and bit with animalistic passion until someone hit me on the back of the head, not hard enough to knock me out for more than a few seconds, but enough to leave the slavers quite capable of loading me, cringing and hissing, into the wagon, and chaining me up again. They’d placed me in one that had no roof or sides, which I was grateful for- I was highly claustrophobic, which they seemed to recognize. I shared the wagon with two men that were hardly out of boyhood. They spent most of the day either crying or sleeping. I had the sleeping pattern of a wolf- I would sleep lightly, wake up, sleep again, and so on.

When the sun set, the caravans were parked at the riverbank- they appeared to be following the Ramr to Urû’baen- and games, drinking, and sex occurred, from the noises over by the large campfire. My wagon was left alone, although a guard was stationed nearby. Seeing as I was in no immediate danger, I closed my eyes, settled back, and began to doze again. However, mere moments later, my ears caught the sound of two dying screams, shortly followed by the roar of a fire. I sat up straight, listening. The guard on duty ran towards the noise, shouting and swearing at the top of his lungs. My fingers itched for the comforting bone handle of my dagger. As I waited, I heard the loud clang of scraping metal, and glared at a large man slithering through the grass.

He stood up straight. It was the Alban. I backed up against the frame of the wagon, snarling gutturally as he approached with his arrogant stride. He was a fool, and a maddened fool to boot, and I didn’t want him anywhere near me. He had a key in his hands, which he fitted into my lock. Unsurprisingly, he immediately broke it. I roared and drew my legs in towards me, but he didn’t take any notice, cursing in some foreign language and bringing up an oversized, spiked shield. I growled, twitching and struggling against the chains, but he just looked into my eyes moodily, only making me even angrier.

“Hold these chains tight. I don’t want to be stabbing ye with the spike of my targe, aye?”
“No, no!” I sputtered, struggling with the common tongue. “Away! Go away!”

He ignored me, sticking two spikes into the chains holding my wrists and ankles, and strode away. He meant to rip them apart, then. I stopped- I’d been planning to screech like an animal to get the slavers to take him away- but if he was going to free me, then I would have to comply. I held the chains as he’d ordered, and watched him start pulling. But as his grossly oversized muscles bulged and his veins throbbed and his breath came slowly and difficultly, I knew there was no way he’d free me in time. Almost a minute passed without my freedom before I heard the slavers rushing about, counting heads. It wouldn’t be long until they checked me, and then the Alban would be-

“BOSS!” a man screamed. “He’s here! We’ve got him!”

My chains sagged around my bare legs again as the Alban was brutally slammed into by three male slavers, sending him to the ground with flailing kicks, punches, and screamed curses. Soon, probably every slaver in the camp arrived at the scene, most assisting with subjugating the Alban. However, the leader strode up to me, eyeing me quizzically. He gingerly removed the shield, tossing it aside, and inspected my chains with an impassive look, completely ignoring the fighting and yelling behind him. I wanted to scratch him, but my bonds held my hands tight against my sides. After a few moments, the Alban was lifted up, chained, and deposited on the ground. A young woman with oil-black hair approached the leader, marching smartly. She looked like a hawk.

“Alban’s secured, boss,” she stated.
“Well done…” he turned towards the redheaded man. “Who did he kill?”
“Tym and Suran, boss.”
“In the same tent?” he quipped.
“They were… together in their tent.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You know, n-naked…”
“I see. That’s two of my men dead, Alban,” he said, anger tinting his voice. “You’ll be punished for this. Nova, have him whipped and then put in with the elf. This one, too, and get her new chains. These ones are ruined.”

I was grabbed, punched in the abdomen, and half-dragged, half-carried to a new prison. I kicked and flailed, but I was tired from holding the chain against the Alban. I put up a pretty pathetic fight as I was easily hauled to a new caravan, this one more cage than wagon, and tossed in. My chains were removed, replaced, and the grate was slammed behind me. I was actually able to move around in here, but that didn’t make up for the fact that I was now in a cage and surrounded by six or seven guards. I screamed and flung myself against the iron bars, making them rattle but do little else. I went at them again and again and again until finally, a guard with a broken and bloodied nose struck the gate door and pointed a sword at me, alcohol on his breath.

“Shut up!” he yelled. “You damn banshee! I’ll do to you what I did to her, virgin or not!” He hit the grate again, and I retorted with a growl as he went away.

However, I hadn’t been aware that there was someone else with me. I turned sharply, grasping for my dagger before I remembered that it wasn’t there. In the half-light of the moon and stars, I saw the outline of the elf sagged against the wall, head lowered, bangs covering her face. Her clothes were in rags, and a small amount of blood had pooled between her legs. She either had tears or sweat on her face. All in all, it wasn’t difficult to deduce what had just happened to her. Despite my ever-present prejudices against elves, pity welled up inside me. I could kill an elf on the spot, but I had never enjoyed the infliction of pain. Not even the most violent of animals engaged in this sort of thing. I crawled towards her, reaching into the only possession I had on me- a small tinderbox concealed within my bodice- and removed some herbs, offering them to her.

“Eat,” I said slowly, making the motion with my hand. “No more hurting.”

A struggle from outside drew both of our attentions. The Alban would be arriving shortly. The elf took the herbs graciously, put them in her mouth, and chewed slowly. I shrugged out of the grey rag on my torso, not giving a thought to my nakedness, and placed it across her body, somehow not wishing more unnecessary pain on her. Then, still crouching, I turned back to the arriving slavers as the door was opened and the Alban was forced inside. He was mostly flung onto the floor of the wagon, coughing and spitting up blood as he rolled onto his back. Bone, the blonde female slaver, shoved his legs inside and slammed the grate closed again, locking it firmly. As the Alban struggled to regain his balance, I eyed him warily, ready to attack him if the situation called for it.

Words;; 1265
Muse;; Weirdish.
Thoughts;; I've had a hard time getting into my posts recently... it's not bad, though!