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Post by Moose-On-Ice on May 19, 2017 23:31:58 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
"Bury me in boulders and leave me for the Lindworms!" Omar hissed, staring at a rather heavy package that was now sitting on the ground instead on on his back, in his bags, where it should be. Damnit. It was hard enough just balancing and carrying these things. Kneeling down to pick it up and put it back? Hopeless. What he wouldn't give for his teke now...
"C'mere you worthless piece of apana shit," he hissed, carefully kneeling down to pick up the package in his mouth. He would have been able to pick it up and get it back up to its place... If some asshole hadn't decided to shove him on purpose, sending him sprawling to his knees and letting the rest of his bundles drop. Great! Great! Now he'd get in trouble for either A. Damaging the goods he was sent to retrieve, or B. Being late. Or best of all, C. Both of the above.
"Kaia damn you, go waltz off a cliff and leave your body for the bears you piece of apana shit!" Omar snarled, seeing a rather ignorant, but amused equine walking away. Noble. Thinking it was fun to bully servile slaves. Dick. "If I weren't late I would go rip your hindquarters off and feed it to the wolves!" He spat, standing up and looking down at the mess. The boxes would get stepped on if he wasted time, but he had to organize them now without the help of someone with teke, get them on his back, and then continue.
Omar worked the bit in his mouth, ears pinned, tail lashing in irritation. "Gods be damned, I'm not going to have an easy night now." He muttered to himself, his teeth clicking against his bit. His knees were sore from the knock that sent them scraping the brick paths, and his back was aching a bit from the sudden, uncomfortable release of the weight he had been carrying.
Had the Chevalier Omar noticed out of the corner of his eye not been there, Omar would have cussed out the noble much more, and even potentially threaten him. But the bridle, brand, and collar clearly marked him as a slave, and he'd get in a mountain sized pile of apana shit if he caused too much trouble or tried to hurt a noble. Omar hissed to himself, muttering several curses under his breath, his accent slipping more heavily into his natural, heavy War-Forged tone rather then the toned down version he used to try and shield his origins from many.
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Post by Deleted on May 20, 2017 0:10:13 GMT -6
ENIAH
THE YOUNG ROYAL SERVANT
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For a boy who had been a slave all his young life, carrying groceries and an extra package of goat feed was just another simple task to fulfill his day. Ignacio's sun growing low toward the horizon meant that the day was finally beginning to draw toward an end--and he could look forward to the peace and quiet his master's villa offered him.
Despite the heavy weight clearly visible on his shoulders, swaying on his back and withers, the young colt didn't seem to complain. His head hung low, feigning submission to passing chevaliers and nobles to keep their eyes from wandering to the slave foal. In the city of Valore he had learned that the higher-ups chalked up to forced smiles and petty eyes, hiding away his true disgust toward them. It had helped him get around in the long-run since he had been bought by Ron. So long as he managed to avoid getting caught in the occasional scuffle with a mouthing slave or a particularly runtish little commoner, he felt he could be safe.
From his mouth hung his empty pail, on his way to draw water from a nearby well and thereby complete the last of the small chores he would have to make before returning to the Villa. For the past few minutes, all Eniah heard was the creak and the swish of his pail as it dangled between his bit. His ears had been pretty still where they lie, low with disinterest--until a sharp curse cut through the alleyway.
His good ear perked up and swiveled to the left. More cursing. Now, Eniah absolutely hated to admit it, but he was often easily attracted to conflict. Watching any horse other than another slave struggle often brought the colt some amusement--especially when it was something as small as a splatter of wine or wares spilling onto the ground. It seemed like some Aodhians didn't know how to manage themselves--correction, he doubted the herd could barely function if it went without its slaves. That's how silly it was.
Sauntering, the thirteen year-old decided to play a game of "shortcut" and made his way down the alleyway casually, at first, acting as though he was merely using the road as a means of passage and was oblivious to the situation at hand. Until, that is, he saw just who was responsible for all that outlandish vocabulary. The stallion donned a thick collar, and a bridle with a bit in his mouth. As if that didn't say enough, he too had one of those damn dragon brands somewhere on his body.
The colt canted his head just slightly. For as unlucky as he was in his life, he couldn't quite say he had the disadvantage of having his telekinesis completely cut off. Cases such as those were few, far between, and short--so short that the only reason he could recall the feeling of being so helpless was he had the scars to remember each of them. The whip had not been kind to his pelt.
It was pitiful, really. A bronze, big stallion like himself would have no trouble lifting any of those packages if it were not for the tack forced on his body. Clearly, they had to have been forced, given his attitude. For once, the colt could only find it in his heart to actually take action upon his sympathies.
His calm tone was not feigned. A surprise to many, the colt could not be more unfazed by the swearing. He was only confused by some of those other, more foreign words. He set down his pail and straightened out. "Do you need any help?" Eniah flicked his tail to one side and began to set down the bags he was carrying on his back, letting them float down in mental embrace.
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on May 23, 2017 12:48:48 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
"Do you need any help?"
Omar's gaze snapped up at the voice, landing on a rather small colt who was putting down his things. He worked his bit in his mouth, staring at him with a rather intense gaze. His pride was making it so he did not want to accept. He'd never needed that much help with tasks like this before, but now, he could hardly carry packages! Of all things!
He stood stiff, his head raised, tail lashing. His gaze moved to the bundles on the ground, and after a few more moments a strained, "yes," ground out of his mouth, his foreign accent still heavy. Who was this whelp. A slave? Commoner? He did not want to owe them anything, he had enough on his plate already. "If you are strong enough, just lift them back up here." He muttered, still displeased with the fact he actually needed the help here. Ridiculous... A War Forged like him needing help...
He couldn't let anything go, even after 12 years. Not his pride, not his anger, not his resentment. He gripped the bit tightly in his mouth, hauling in a heavy breath. "What do you want in return for the help." He shortly asked. It wasn't likely for someone to do something out of kindness. Not in this herd, and especially not for someone like him, a slave.
His gaze wandered over the child again, noting the scars on his face. The cloak he wore was more ornate then anything he had seen on a slave, so it confused him some. He himself only ever wore the collar around his neck, and perhaps his bridle when he went out. The bridle did nothing except make him feel pathetic, for the enchantment that broke his teke was in his collar. Never had it off in 12 years, never used his teke since it was locked on.
"I can't offer a colt like you anything, except for helping carry the things you had." He looked at the bags on the ground.
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Post by Deleted on May 24, 2017 22:30:46 GMT -6
ENIAH
THE YOUNG ROYAL SERVANT
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He is stoic, unfazed by the long pause drawn by the much larger slave. His blue eyes fell dull and focused on the spilled packages, too stubborn be nudged along onto restrained stallion's back. The thirteen year-old briefly studied them, flicking both ears forwards. Then his head tilted upwards slightly when the older stallion strained his reply.
If he were older, he would have realized just as much of himself he would have seen from that reply. Eniah was rather stubborn, and dutiful, never delaying to complete a task but not really taking to any offers for help either. The only time he really had recently was when one of his master's pygmy goats fled the pen again--and that was out of sheer concern that Ron would return before little goat would have been corralled back inside.
Eniah calmly sauntered towards the packages. Getting them up onto the much taller draft's back would prove to be...a bit of a challenge, sadly, considering such a height difference. Eniah strained his telekinesis until he managed to slide them into the other's saddlebags. He nearly ended up placing two more onto his own back--out of instinct rather than voluntary thought. It took a moment for him to remember just what he was doing, hence the two packages floated in mental embrace briefly.
"You don't have to repay me," Eniah replied rather casually. "We are both slaves. I was always told that we should look after each other. It's not like any others in this city do." Well, sometimes. That was Gloria's ideal hope, but even Eniah knew that wasn't the reality of things. His missing ear told of something far different, as did the few times he had gotten into scuffles with other slaves he happened to run into. "Do you belong to the Dark District, or a master?" He asked as he slid the remaining packages into the saddlebag. The packages said labor, but the collar said servile. He didn't appear nearly as decorated as some of the Pit Fighters of the Sol District.
Eniah offered a brief glimpse up at the draft before giving a long sigh through his nose. Much like the older before him, he turned his eyes away and showed a stubborn piece of pride. The youth slowly returned to his own packages and lifted them off onto his back. "I would rather not burden you with more extra weight. Besides, if one of these were to slip out again, there's probably a chance you'll be covered in goat feed and tomatoes."
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Then his expression softened--as did his voice, in a rare shred of genuine curiosity. "...Your vocabulary is...uh, unique. Were you not born to this city?"
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on May 27, 2017 19:22:18 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
Omar watched the young colt, nostrils flaring a bit in exasperation. He couldn't dawdle any longer, damnit... He paused seeing the telekinesis embrace the packages, and he stood still for only a few moments until he saw the colt struggling. Ah. He crouched down a bit, making things just a tad easier for him. The slowly increasing weight on his back made him grunt lightly, but he made no other sound of struggle. This was not that difficult to carry. He didn't need to complain.
His blue gaze widened a bit at the reply from the colt. No need to repay? That was different and odd. He huffed lightly, frowning at his words. Look after each other? He wasn't told that. His words had merit however... No one else would help or care for a slave, unless they were more of a primped and pampered bird, free of duties, merely a symbol of their master's status, yet still contained in a cage. He looked over him over again, eying his ear and scars once more. Lovely care their masters took to ensure they were well cared for...
"Master." He bluntly replied, his bit clicking in his mouth. "Deidra... For the time being." He added. How long would it be until he changed hands again? To the city itself, as a laborer? Or to a master to do work for them? He would not be upset with another master, or, more upset then he already was, as long as he never became a caged bird... In his case, a caged falcon.
Hearing and seeing the sigh made Omar let out a small snort of amusement. Odd, how it reminded him of himself. A much younger self. When he still lived with his mother, and still had yet to join Kronos's training regimen. He shifted the weight on his back a bit, watching him lift his own bags. "Point taken." The stallion replied, his gaze softening and voice lightening a tad. He raised a brow at the colt's question. Unique? Oh.
"Mmh... War-Forged was my birth home." He said. He was a colt, he couldn't use his past against him like others. "Learned many phrases from my parents and friends. Drinking in a bar with my fellow raiders taught me much I maybe shouldn't have learned in the vocabulary category." He reminisced about those times, hearing each of his comrades try to outdo each other with more and more ridiculous curses. Times had gone...
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Post by Deleted on May 31, 2017 18:57:12 GMT -6
ENIAH
THE YOUNG ROYAL SERVANT
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"Deidra." The name slides off his tongue quickly. "Mm. Sounds familiar. The name rings a bell but I don't remember where from." Wasn't that the name of one of the horses who were put on trial just for releasing vindicators? With a wary mind and a ear always turned to his palace connections, Eniah had gotten word of quite a few inside things; such as a war declared upon by his master's daughter Iscah, and the aforementioned trial that was apparently one of the advisor's last meetings. Eniah chose not to spill most of what he had overheard over the past few weeks, mostly because it was not his place to do so and because he himself wasn't quite sure if it was true or not. There was only so much a palace slave could hear about.
"You speak s' though you are soon to be put on market. Are they a slave trader then?" In his experience, Eniah had a much more comfortable time--well, however comfortable belonging to them might be--with slave traders than with his own previous masters. As soon as they had trained a six year-old colt to behave himself, his treatment had been better than most; probably due to the shine of his unscathed coat and his healthy build. At one time, the child had been quite a valuable slave.
"Why don't you walk with me? Where are you headed?" Eniah swishes his tail to one side as he turns to face the opposite direction. With a raised hoof and ears perked forward, he seemed keen to begin making his way through the alleyway.
"So the rumors are true then. This herd really is keen to steal away horses from other herds." The child's voice was soft. His eyes dulled drastically from disgust. "How did you end up within Valore, then? I hear there are are bandits stalking the open ranges of Sirith, stealing travelers that don't openly identify as Aodhians themselves. They're rounded up and brought into the city to be sold as slaves. Are you among those horses?"
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Jun 8, 2017 22:30:19 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
Omar nodded at the question. "Yes. She is. I've lost track of how many masters I passed through before I landed with her. However I doubt she'll keep me long, and my next owner won't be my last." It was too easy to guess he'd be kicked back to the market within a few weeks of changing hands. Maybe this time if he went back, he'd be sold as a Labor slave. Hm.
"Why don't you walk with me? Where are you headed?"
Omar looked at him, hesitating for a moment, before falling into a slow pace beside the colt as to not overtake him. "Just back to Deidra's home. Mostly used to get packages and supplies for her." He said, gaze flickering backwards to keep an eye on the precarious packages. He hated it. But it wasn't like there were any other jobs he happened to like. He was used for his muscle, and although he hated it, he would prefer it over being bought as a trophy. Honestly, he saw Pit Fighters as such. They seemed to enjoy the fighting, the praise, and were just trophies of status. He was as pleased as he could be just hauling loads like this rather then fighting as a jeweled, golden sword.
Omar was quiet after Eniah finished, mulling over if he should tell or not. To his knowledge, not even his masters knew of his history beyond the fact he came to War-Forged. He'd told not a soul about the truth. "No..." He began, bit clicking in his mouth. "...My father paid some folks off to take me away." He bluntly said, tone cold and even. He drew in a sharp, rough breath.
"He was a bloody tyrant of the clan. He had his little list of potential heirs, and I was on it. I..." He hesitated to go on. "I got involved with another stallion, he didn't like it, so I decided to overthrow him. Took my raider comrades, the Úlfhéðnar, and we fought through my siblings, cousins, to my father." He snorted lightly. "It was an attempt. A failed one. Not enough of us to counter all of them. Most of the Úlfhéðnar died. The ones that lived turned tail, my father must have hunted them down."
"At the end of the battle, my father... Captured me. He wanted to get rid of me then so he sold me off to Valore nearly twelve years ago. Been here since, had the collar on since, and been trying to escape since." He finished in a icy tone, words spitting out like cobra venom. He was a colt, he didn't need to know everything. Bare bone details.
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