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Post by Zookcan on Nov 15, 2018 21:51:02 GMT -6
THE WANDERING EYE
ENIAH & AHSIN
PRE - CHAPTER 3
Time of Day: Daytime
Location: Valore
After having gotten in a fight with his old housemate Deimos, Eniah has been put up for sale once again in Valore's Slave Markets. With a pelt marred with scars
and a freshly torn ear, his chances of being sold to another noble look slim. Meanwhile, Ahsin is once again browsing the market.
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Post by Zookcan on Nov 15, 2018 22:05:16 GMT -6
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ENIAH
your scars will be remade in gold.
  
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Ignacio's sun beats down on his pelt once again, shining fiercely through the rafters of his stall where he is tied to. It soaks into his withers and makes him sweat, but he pays little mind to it. Eniah stands between a bulky looking draft horse, riddled with scars and nicks from what looked like countless fights, and a dainty-looking filly, likely in her teens, her hair matted and her pelt rugged in some areas.
They are all ragged, actually. The colt had only been tied up in this stall for a week now, feeling naked and cold for the first time in four years. He is certain he has grown a little taller, a little lankier, and a little stronger since he had last been lead away into these alleys, tacked with a grungy bridle and fastened to a post. Except, this time they displayed him less like a piece of artwork and more like a cow awaiting slaughter. They are right to, he thinks. For the entire week, Eniah has been closely guarding and hiding away a torn ear, keeping it pressed against his neck. In Seira's halls, he at least had the company of walls to keep him hidden when he walked without a cloth to obscure his scars. Here he is barren, naked. His once favorable, fiery pelt now riddled with countless scars from his master's cruelty. They are plain to see.
"Ugly," he heard his slavers call him. "It's a damn shame. If it weren't for those scars and that torn ear, I'm sure he could be sold for a much higher price. That beautiful pelt's been ruined." Oh, how it made Eniah's blood boil. How it made him seethe, both at himself and at his keepers. Is there really nothing more to him than this coat of his? Cold and harboring resentment, the once "beautiful" colt hangs his head, hiding it in what little shade the roof over his stall provided him with.
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Word Count: 329
Tagging: hydrus101
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Post by hydrus101 on Nov 16, 2018 15:36:16 GMT -6
 A H S I N• Aodh | Sanctum Attendant •
“I once would horde children like pretty trinkets to show the world. I would polish them till they gleamed, but in their brightness I saw only misery.”
Heat had always been central to Ahsin’s life. It was fire, it was power, it was even a blessing that had settled into his very soul, but that did not mean he liked it. As thin as his coat was, he was almost guaranteed a sunburn every time he went outside, though the thick fabric draped over his back helped a small bit. Why he had felt compelled to venture out into the Eithinian heat, he had no idea, but eventually he found his hooves leading him to a place he visited often: the slave market.
The feeling of hot sand beneath his tail as it slithered across the ground was a familiar feeling, as was the sound of slavers and slaves alike falling quiet as he passed. Ahsin was used to the stares, numb to them now in fact, and kept his pace, slow and elegant as a god himself. Head held high and black horn arcing gracefully towards the sun, Ahsin perused the stock like one would look through at window display in the merchant district. He was looking for something, or someone rather, specific. His gaze quickly slid past the older, bulkier horses for they were not what he was looking for. His gaze slowed over the smaller ones, but flickered away as he realized they were simply miniatures. No, none of them would do. He was looking for someone younger. The bay unicorn was looking for a new satellite, another child to teach and raise as his own.
Now, Ahsin had always had a liking for gold. Gold goblets, golden clothes, golden buildings, so when sun shone down onto the colt’s golden pelt, Ahsin was intrigued. Hastening his step ever so slightly, Ahsin came to the stall that contained the golden treasure and paused, eyes narrowed slightly.
The colt was truly a gorgeous child, anyone could see it, but his pelt was marred with scars, crisscrossing his body this way and that like a jagged river. Regardless, the scars told a story, and Ahsin’s blood boiled at the thought of hurting a child, slave or not. Slow as not to startle, the unicorn took a step forward, using the sound of his hoof on the ground as an indicator of his presence.
Catching the colt’s attention, Ahsin spoke, quiet and intrigued. “And who might you be, little one?”
WC: 392
Post: 1
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Post by Zookcan on Dec 8, 2018 23:36:29 GMT -6
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ENIAH
your scars will be remade in gold.
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His pelt draws the eye like a bee to a flower. It always has, and that was, in his eyes, his greatest strength as well as his greatest flaw. The cadence of hoof falls draw nearer to his stall, standing out amongst the cacophony of horses being lead to and from their stalls, and wealthy horses, perusing the markets for anything salvageable. In truth, the colt was not expecting to capture a buyer's attention today -- since he has been here, only two other horses have looked him over. All the others would pay a glance at him before continuing on. Their remarks, all the same: Too skinny. Too young. His pelt's all beat up. More coal to fuel his ire. More water to wash away his confidence.
The horse who inspects him though, is different -- at least, at first. Of course, being the largest herd in the entirety of Hireath, Aodh belonged to horses of every kind. And in Valore, there is a slave for every type of horse in Aodh. Sky blue eyes remained cast downwards, and his head kept low, anticipating another tsk or a remark about the state of his pelt. "And who might you be, little one?" The interested comment catches his attention.
Still, any signs that he might have acknowledged him were subtle. All he gave was a flick of his whole ear, the torn one still closely hugging his neck -- and a slight glance with those stormy eyes. If an empathetic heart looked into them, they might have caught a glimpse of what he has seen and been through within these past few weeks. But the twelve year-old remains silent -- speak only when spoken to, and even then, speak cautiously, especially in the markets. A single callous word could be the different between being purchased, and lingering in the heat for another day. Eniah isn't sure which outcome was worse, however.
"Ah, I see you're eyeing my selection!" A stocky, tall bay horse steps in from a tent beside the stalls. His chin is grizzly from scars, and he is blind in one eye, suggesting that he had quite an exciting life as a slave caravaner in his younger years. Eniah knew him as Ignis. He was a gruff stallion, but surprisingly neutral and uncondescending towards his slaves. "That is Eniah. Was just put up a week ago, I think."
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Word Count: 396
Tagging: hydrus101
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Post by hydrus101 on Dec 12, 2018 14:31:40 GMT -6
A H S I N• Aodh | Sanctum Attendant •
“I once would horde children like pretty trinkets to show the world. I would polish them till they gleamed, but in their brightness I saw only misery.”
The only response Ahsin received was a flick of the ear and a fleeting glance. Had it not been for the look in his eyes, Ahsin would’ve thought the colt was ignoring him. He wouldn’t have called it terror or fright, or anything similar, but simply the way he held himself radiated caution.
The blood red unicorn opened his mouth to soothe the child but stopped himself short. Perhaps the child was mute. Ahsin had worked with mute children before, the last hadn’t been any trouble at all, but before he could get another word out, the slaver made his appearance. Ahsin’s brow furrowed slightly as the bay stepped forward, the “salesman” demeanor all too familiar in these markets.
The unicorn had learned in all his years of work that slavers would always lie to cover the history of their stock. Ahsin himself had stumbled upon a slaver who had taken Aodhian orphans from the street illegally and sold them under the guise of delirious vagabond children. That woman was a monster and from that point onward he had made a rule to always speak to the slave first, though slaves would never be open when their masters were nearby, especially not children, but the slaver did supply some information at least.
“Eniah...” he echoed, turning his gaze back towards the colt. “He’s about eleven, twelve, correct?” Without waiting for an answer, Ahsin flicked an ear and blinked slowly, made it clear that. “Tell me, Eniah. Can you read?”
WC: 265
Post: 1
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Post by galekxy on Oct 3, 2019 19:05:20 GMT -6
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