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Post by Queerly on Jul 15, 2017 10:27:42 GMT -6
 Hello Starborn, and welcome to Plot 406: OpportunityTeam Leader: Ulysses Participants: Maks, Mathias, Isolt, Jupiter, Asalah, Omar, Phoebe Theme MusicPlease keep the following in mind!- Posts must be a minimum of 175 words. There is no maximum!- No strict order is enforced, but there must be at least two posts between your own character's.- No god-moding or reading characters' minds (unless your pony is a literal telepath, anyway)
- Always get consent before harming another character!- Your team is precious. Try to interact with everyone. <3- Have fun! Even if your pony isn't. 8'DPrompt: Valore's labor slaves may yet have reason to celebrate the King's passing: in accordance with the mourning period, laborers will not work for three days. They are permitted to mull about the Dark District as they like, but many prefer the company of the Vatros Sanctum and its attendants. This is where Phoebe, Maks, and Isolt find themselves: warm and well fed in the Sanctum's main room. The Flamen is accompanied by his slave Omar, and nearby is Asalah, a medic-in-training sent to treat minor injuries and aches at the Sanctum. Jupiter, a young stallion whose attendance is not as strange as it may first seem, stands at one of the altars with his exotic familiar in tow. It would seem that the day is shaping up to be uneventfully somber... Location:: The Vatros Sanctum's main room. Time of Day: Mid-Morning |
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Post by Queerly on Jul 15, 2017 12:37:43 GMT -6
A messenger had come in the Sanctum doors early in the morning, when most of the helpers were still having breakfast in the adjacent buildings. The runner had been wet with sweat, expression carefully constructed as to only convey sorrow. It had only been Ulysses and his two slave wards present listening to the news: King Amadeus had been assassinated in the night. That was all the message said for now, an announcement without explanation. They were to play the mourning bells, and prepare for a tide of mourners. Then the runner was off, taking the message to its next destination.
Ulysses had taken a few of his helpers with him to ring the great bells of Vatros. Old things, heavy and not very beautiful, but the somber music they produced still carried over much of the surrounding city. In between their runs, he could hear other Sanctums across the city respond to this sad song with their own. Together, they drowned the city in the sound of bells. It was a sound many of the citizens knew, for it had not been long since they last lost a monarch.
Only this one would hardly be mourned with the same fervor and honest sadness.
The streets were oddly quiet. The king might not have been well loved, but a monarch was a monarch, and this occurrence brought back memories of the deaths of Alduin and Marcellus to many. It was perhaps more the act of it – the sudden intrusion on their daily lives, on their illusion of peace – rather than the victim of the crime. No one likes their bubble of safety burst, and if such a thing could happen to a monarch, with all his guards, was anyone safe? The news of the assassination had spread fast, but actual information was much scarcer, and in the absence of fact, there were rumors. Terrifying rumors.
Ulysses could not afford himself the luxury of sadness or fear. He had a Sanctum to run, and a congregation to guide and console. He could absorb himself in the sadness of losing a young life later. Ulysses had never been terribly impressed by Amadeus as a king, but from their brief meetings, the boy had seemed innocent, ill-fit for the role of a monarch.
Although, the Flamen mused, even if Amadeus had been a total monster, he would not have wished death on him. Any loss of life was a tragedy, even with the knowledge that their souls would journey on into Ignacio’s fiery embrace.
It was getting close to noon, and people had been funneling in and out all morning, pretty much from the moment the bells had quieted. Some came to mourn, others were just doing their usual, personal prayers before leaving. There were certainly more people than usual, and Ulysses had told his helpers to set up a soup kitchen in front of the Sanctum for those who wished to stay a while, or were too distraught to make their own lunch. And of course, offering a meal to labor slaves who could not afford, nor should they, ever pass on the opportunity to eat.
The unicorn stood at the foot of Ignacio’s statue, eyeing the crowd currently gathered there. Despite the unusually large crowd, the Sanctum was peaceful. Ulysses had no intention of disturbing their private conversations and prayers with a sermon, and was instead content to simply sit back and watch, just in case someone wanted personal guidance, or just someone to talk to. |
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Post by InTheDappledRain on Jul 15, 2017 14:32:09 GMT -6
 Asalah was silent as she walked the halls of the sanctum, eyes downcast as she tried to take in all that had happened. There was too much going on for her to sift through on her own, but she had to. That morning as she had walked out of the house she shared with her two sisters, they had briefly spoken about their plans for the day. Airita and Evalynn both were going out to deal with a trade caravan that had apparently been stopped, the need for supplies for the shop too much to just wait for.
Thank Cascade she had left that life behind her. The idea of speaking to the caravan travelers was just... not enjoyable for her.
So much had happened in the past two weeks for her... and now the entire herd was in upheaval. She breathed in slowly as she rehearsed the various medical conditions she had seen during the day, Edith's instructions were set on repeat. She was here to help heal wounds and various minor aches, which was perfectly fine for her. It had been years, literally, since she had done anything involving the medical field. She needed this refresher.
She had looked over the gathering crowds a few times now, curious to know if she recognized anybody that had decided to come this way today. She had been required to come here (though she most certainly didn't mind), and on any normal day, she wouldn't have expected to come across so many horses... but today...
It was obvious that today was not a normal day. Asalah had known this as soon as the news had hit her ears, and unlike much of her herd, she couldn't help but feel a very heavy heart upon the news that her king had been assassinated. It was Amadeus that had recently approved of her rank change, and because of that recent memory, she couldn't believe he was dead.
It was too hard. She knew he had his issues, but that didn't mean that he deserved to die.
The silence in the temple was almost too heavy for her. Quietly, she took notice of the singular unicorn that had stood alone by himself. Curiosity struck her for just a moment, but she dared to not speak up, the silence too heavy for her parched throat to break.
Post #1 | Word Count: 390  |
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Jul 15, 2017 14:58:59 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
 Still growing accustomed to the way of life in Vatros, the interruption had been mostly disregarded by the chestnut stallion. Some delivery or sort, maybe a slave. Nothing like what it actually was. Standing beside Ulysses and his housemate, the news brought on very little change in him. After all, this was not his king that had died. He held his tongue from comments and remarks, as this may be rough for others besides him.
The bells tolling shortly after brought back memories. It hadn't been long since this sound rolled out across the city. He remembered it. Now that, that had been even more sorrowful then this. Omar clearly saw that. To be honest, he found the entirety of Aodh to be... Drama queens about this thing. They had the luxury of stopping work for mourning.
Still. He held his tongue. For it had been a child who died. A king, one who did not stop the slavery and torture here, but a child. And even he knew better then to let out bitter, rough comments.
He remained with Ulysses in the main room to help if needed. There was a large crowd, and one of his duties was to maintain peace and throw out roughhousers. That seemed a bit unneeded now. It was doubtful that someone would cause trouble now. But he remained anyway, keeping a silent watch, helping with heavy lifting were it needed. Let them get their drama over and done with. The more quiet he was, the sooner it would be finished.
257 Words; Post 1
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Post by fallenraen on Jul 15, 2017 15:45:50 GMT -6
[ Phoebe ]
It had not been a peaceful morning.
She had woken up to perform her usual duties within the Valiant District she had been moved to months ago, scrub the floors of the barracks until they all but sparkled and then clean weapons or armor as there was no assignment (Axenus having been sent away to Onea that made her heart pinch in worry for her dear friend and his safety there) to follow out onto patrol, when she had heard the news and the bells had echoed through the suddenly quiet city.
The king was no more.
A mere child, barely younger than herself, had passed on by the rumored hooves of assassins. It had made her skin crawl, her heartbeat quicken when the words had fallen from a runner and the Chevaliers had relieved those with her of their duties to go elsewhere in the city. Was anyone safe there with murderers running around? Would the Chevaliers find the culprits - but then what would they do? Sentence them to death by fire? Cut them down where they stood? Troublesome thoughts had plagued the mare as she’d made her way to perhaps the only place in the city beside her friend’s side where she could be accepted: the Vatros Sanctum outside the Dark District she had once returned to each evening.
It had never been home, she did not feel as if she really had a home, though anywhere was better than nowhere. It was better than roaming the streets, unsafe out in the open, or so she had believed. The number of horses in the sanctuary made her throat tighten when she had entered, the girl shying away to one of the corners of the main room to keep from bumping into anyone that mourned or otherwise prayed before the grand statue of their lord Ignacio.
What did she do with herself? Ask if she could be of any service with food or otherwise? Offer her shoulder to those that cried for their city without a monarch, a leader to guide them (despite young and as inexperienced as the then former king had been)? Her wandering gaze, one that had searched the crowd briefly for a familiar face that she might be able to talk with instead, fell to her hooves as she flattened her ears against her head. She had to work up the courage to dare approach anyone first, and right then that did not seem possible with her heart fluttering in her chest from nerves. She didn’t do well with crowds, if she was honest, and she had no idea how to comfort people either. Words would not fix their broken kingdom.
Post count: #1 | Word count: 446 |
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Post by kaons on Jul 15, 2017 16:11:43 GMT -6
 MaksimLabor Slave | Aodh
The shadow of death fell upon the citizens like a cold, winter’s breath, and just like when the wind rustled his coat, he paid no mind. A death today was only the lingering response of yesterday’s failure, and his thoughts trailed to the Pegasus he met in the royal courtyard a short time ago. Was the man with the clipped wings in mourning or revelry? Was the responsibility weighing down on him, pulling at his hooves until walking seemed far too burdensome to achieve?
Maks could relate. His wife had died, and he could still feel her whisper in his ears when his eyes were closed. The fissures in his heart had never healed. Every morning at sunrise, he forced his weary bones to move despite the guilt clawing its way up his throat, clinging over his body. She had been his sun, set forever beyond a horizon he could only follow when this cursed land decided to claim him fully – body and soul.
Amadeus did not deserve to die, even if he did cast a blind eye to him and his kind. As everyone rushed to attend to their fallen King, he couldn’t help but bitterly think of the few who even cared about his wife’s deaths. Her funeral had been small and uneventful – and she was only one of many who gave her life to fuel the machine of wealth. Why would they care about a nobody? Still, the contrast was difficult to swallow, even as the bells’ tolling gave him a brief reprieve from his labor.
He’d never been inside the Sanctum before – never felt pure enough to cross the threshold, but all were sinners today. Maks strode inside, casting his gaze upward at the lofty architecture and wondered whose work had made this grandiose temple come into being. Whose shoulders did the statues of the gods truly sit upon?
When he finally looked back down again, he healers and priests, but his wounds were too deep and too old to tend to now. Instead, he took his meal and wandered toward a back corner near a window, letting his gray cheek fall to the glass. Deep blue eyes stared beyond at the mourners who walked the streets, seeing the expressions range from joy to sadness at the news.
But Maks? He felt… nothing but pity, he supposed. The boy didn’t deserve to die just as his wife hadn’t either. Amadeus, murdered by his citizens and a labor slave murdered by the city. Perhaps the gods of justice had simply come to balance the scales…
Words: 428| Post: 1 |
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Post by MusicalMagpie on Jul 15, 2017 16:32:05 GMT -6
Jupiter | Commoner |
When the bells tolled, Jupiter did not know what to feel. He had no relationship with the King at all, outside a relative being a customer in the flower shop. The family's views were mixed. Mama, known better to friends and visitors as Albella, was mostly indifferent toward the child king. She never spoke ill of him, but had certain doubts. Alois however, Mom, was quick with harsh remarks. Of course, this was only in the presence of family. The family never divided on their views and never impressed a clear dislike for the king on him. Still, despite the lack of positive comments. Jupiter felt nauseous just thinking about the king's death. The king was barely older than him. Granted, an aging potion had helped the white colt along, it still sat heavy in his gut. You could die young.
Zesla in tow, Jupiter made an awkward entrance into the sanctum and hastily moved to the back toward the alters. Jupiter skirted around the alter designated for the herd's patron. Now there was a figure both sides of the family agreed to hiss at. Rich ruby eyes passed over each of the effigies. The creature of nerves ceased clawing at his gut as memories of working in Grandpa Maeral's kiln house came crawling back. Sculpting was as much a hobby as flower arranging, but three times as tedious. No matter how long he spent kneading the clay it would always blow up in the firing kiln. Though just because he couldn't get it right himself, he still enjoyed marveling over the work of others. Jupiter came to a halt in front of the Alya alter. What a fine piece. Antlers and horns were hard enough to sculpt from marble, but wings seemed to always require a master's touch. Wings stretched away from the body are heavy enough to snap off due to their own weight. Getting them to freeze in a moment of time like this was awe inspiring.
It wasn't just the craftsmanship of the Alya effigy that drew Jupiter to it, but his basic knowledge of the goddess in question. As he understood, Alya is the patron god of the Seroran horses and the same land his familiar was born. Milo, the zesla, wasn't just a rare animal from the desert, but a special one sprung forth from myth. Which myths told of a bird headed feline? No idea. Nonetheless, Alya seemed special to the teen. Jupiter leaned against the weight of the lion body. As much as he hated shouting. The quiet never sat well any better. ___
Word Count - 431 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Jul 16, 2017 9:02:24 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Ulysses had been watching the crowd all the while. He had never had the eye of a hunter or someone skilled in noticing hidden things, but what he was decently good at was figuring out who other people were. As such, it was easy enough to know who among the arrivals were labor slaves, who just commoners for whom Vatros was the most convenient Sanctum to visit. He wondered how many felt truly sad or shocked, and how many were there just because they felt like they had to be.
Ulysses thought about the nobles in their Sol district – would they be truly sad for their king? Things always seemed quite complicated and tactical for the nobles, something he did not enjoy.
The grey caught himself before his thoughts got too bitter. Now was not the time.
He noted some new faces among the labor slaves, and wondered if he should perhaps approach them. In scanning the crowd, he noticed a pure white youngster close to Alya’s effigy, accompanied by… A beast of some sort, he knew he had seen images of them in a book, but could not recall anything about them. Zoology was never his specialty. He gave the white youngster a smile, but did not approach him for conversation.
Instead, his eyes turned back towards the main bulk of the room. Omar was there, unusually mellow, but Ulysses had no doubt that if anyone made trouble, or chose to engage Omar in chit chat that the chestnut giant did not appreciate, he would hear the words “apana shit”. Sometimes the language shocked him, so strange in its hardness, but a small part of him did find it amusing. So stark was the contrast between the War Forged mannerisms and Sanctum life.
He noticed a doctor among the crowd – not because he knew her, but because Edith had described her current protégées to him. It was an effort to keep the Flamen informed about whom among the Sanctum visitors was medically trained, and thus able to help when needed.
Ulysses walked towards her with a hospitable smile, and when they came within a comfortable talking distance, he nodded his head respectfully.
“You must be Edith’s apprentice?”, he tried to confirm. Soon enough he went on to explain: “We have not been introduced, but Edith left me descriptions of her apprentices so I’d know you when you come in.”
“I am Ulysses, the Flamen of this Sanctum. Forgive me my lack of proper attire – the occasion did not feel right for candles and ash”, the unicorn introduced himself. He preferred to use his Flamen attire only during actual sermons, and having candles on your back when so many visitors were moving around just seemed a little too much like asking for someone to get burns.
Word count: 466
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Post by mariahwhy on Jul 16, 2017 12:17:55 GMT -6
ISOLT
Isolt had just been leaving the Dark District when the bells had tolled. She and the other labor slaves preparing to cross the bridge into the workday came to a standstill, listening intently to the sound that was all too clear but left many questions. Some appropriately shocked gasps could be heard, along with a few understandable but tactless declarations of excitement at the sudden realization of vacation days. The mule simply stood still though, listening to the bells and remembering the last time they had rung only a few years before. Her eyebrows creased, and she turned back to her home to put away the few belongings she would not need now for a few days. She would have preferred a holiday in which she could partake in street races and revelry, but even the labor slaves knew this was much too somber of an event to be caught having such fun. And so she decided on the next best use of her time - food. Upon entering the sanctum she made a beeline for the soup kitchen, hardly paying attention to the other occupants of the temple. It was not a place she visited often. Lacking in anything more than basic knowledge of the gods, she simply prayed to Ignacio out of tradition, and the others never. There seemed no point to it all. As their King had just proven each of them would end up with the same fate - death. So what did it matter if some being watched down on them? And it certainly didn't affect her work, so why should she care? But today the sanctum was busy, and the camaraderie in the face of uncertainty lent a sense of calm that Isolt enjoyed, so once her belly was full she remained - content to walk among the other horses. One horse caught her eye, though, standing in front of the altar of the goddess Alya. The stark white pelt was hard to miss, and rung its own bell of familiarity in her mind. She frowned at the turned back of the young horse, and then at the strange animal sitting next to him. A... oh, what did they call those... z-... z-something. The paint shook her head. It was unimportant. But the young stallion seemed so familiar, and yet an odd character to be in this sanctum. He wore neither the slaves brand or the attire of a flamine, assistant, or healer. His clean appearance and rare animal were also dead give-aways that he was not one of the orphans that often frequented this place. So what would he be doing here? There was nothing better to do, so she might as well find out. Without hesitation she approached the pale horse, making sure to come up on the opposite side of the companion, though it did not frighten her. Isolt gave it a wary glance, before turning her attention to the face of the young horse. Oh! He reminded her of that colt that had been locked in the barracks with her the day she received her brand. Jupiter, wasn't it? But that foal had been much, much younger. Perhaps this was a relative? "Excuse me," she said, though her voice barely reached above a whisper. "You look very familiar. Do you know a foal named Jupiter?" (Words: 555) |
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Post by InTheDappledRain on Jul 16, 2017 13:23:31 GMT -6
Asalah's ears flicked forward almost at once, the heavy and unbreakable silence suddenly dispersing as the Flamen turned his gaze upon her. She froze, feeling the world melt away from around her for just a moment as the weight of his eyes hit hers. It was the kind of gaze that she could have held, in a different life, but she dared not take the time to think too heavily upon it. She was moving towards a new path. A path she was happy, and more than a little comfortable with the new job she was working on. Her ears flicked back as quickly as they had flicekd forward. She couldn't help but feel small in that moment, as if the Divine from Aquore had turned her eyes onto Asalah. She gave him a slight, if not nervous smile, curious as to how he knew her and what exactly he wanted to speak with her about. Yet, before she needed to ask, as he quickly introduced himself and began a simple, yet not unkind discussion. "O-oh! The lack of candles and ash isn't a problem at all." She began pleasantly. "I'm not in my normal attire either because of this... granted, I'm still getting used to the new position." She chuckled nervously, realizing just how new to this entire ordeal she was. There were so many facets of Aodh that she hadn't taken the time to know that she was suddenly thrust into. "My name's Asalah.... I don't think I mentioned that before?" She left the question open, uncertain on what to speak on at this point. She frowned. "Have you come across any troubles? Anything that I can help with? I know I'm by no means a spiritual healer, but I will help where I can." Post #2 | Word Count: 297 |
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Jul 17, 2017 10:48:00 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
If there was an award for the most bored here, Omar most likely won it. Everyone else was in mourning, shock, and clear sadness. No one else was as bored as him, that was for sure. He took a deep breath, letting out a rough, heavy sigh. Looking about the room to find something of interest, he felt something missing- Oh. His collar. Damn. He couldn't get used to the feeling of his collar missing, the bell no longer a constant background noise. Not like he missed the thing! But it was still odd to be without it after so long.
His gaze flicked down to his neck, where he knew there were visible scars from the collar's rubbing over twelve years. Even without the collar, he still bore signs of a slave. The brand, the neck scarring, even just the fact he was standing here, in Valore.
Omar lifted his gaze, and raised a brow at the sight of a rather curious animal in the sanctem. That was... Well. It wasn't from Eithne nor Onea. He knew that for sure. The feline elements made him wary. It was a familiar, from the way it stayed with the equine beside it, but it still could do damage. Mountain lions and snow leopards were common in Onea, and he'd seen what they had been able to do.
At the very least, it was something mildly interesting to look at. He flicked his ear at Ulysses' voice. Eh, didn't concern him. Again huffing, he leaned against the wall, watching the familiar in the room.
262 Words; Post 2
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Post by kaons on Jul 17, 2017 11:16:44 GMT -6
MaksimLabor Slave | Aodh
When the fading memories of the past failed to satisfy any longer, he lifted his grullo head from the window and gazed at the small gathering in the sanctum – in detail this time. Another labor slave approached a white horse with an odd animal by its side. Maks furrowed his dark brows over luminous, blue eyes and wondered at this strange familiar. A small handful of those he shared space with at night had a bird familiar, but this was vastly different. His curiosity even tilted an ear forward from its usual backward position.
Conversations echoed in the cavernous hall, and he took two steps forward, unaccustomed to his stomach feeling entirely full (like it was now). The priest was making some reference to clothing and attire, and Maks rolled his eyes slightly, wondering what mentality made anyone care so much about appearances. His plain bridle and scarred body was evidence enough of his status that the wealthy needn’t set themselves even further apart.
He’d always wondered at these holy men – agents of the gods. Were they funded for praying harder than the rest? Preaching in their fine clothes about the power of gods to those who were ruled by man first? Maks clenched his jaw briefly to rid his thoughts of this bitterness, but she sharp edge to his expression did not waver. He walked toward the shrine of Ignacio, staring up that the scaly, horned beast and sent a prayer his way.
He sent it on behalf of Amadeus.
May the boy king find peace and prosperity beyond.
Words: 260| Post: 2 |
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Post by fallenraen on Jul 17, 2017 13:50:24 GMT -6
[ Phoebe ]
It wasn’t a lion, no.
She had been watching, quietly observing others in the crowd and those that continued to trickle in through the front door, when her ears had pricked to the sight of the strange creature that wandered beside its assumed master. They looked young - well actually, she corrected herself, they looked only a couple years younger than herself. Two? Three? It did not matter, she decided with a twitch of her ear. They clearly were no slave, no branding upon their shoulders like the ones she had noticed on others that didn’t have their bridles that day. She doubted any slave would have such an exotic creature, anyways, unless they served the royal family itself and had been rewarded.
Curiosity had her gaze follow them before the pair went towards one of the shrines in the other rooms, her gaze then glancing to those beneath Ignacio’s own statue. The Flamen, whom she barely recognized as she didn’t often visit the sanctum, another commoner perhaps, a fellow labor slave she didn’t know or remember the name of who had joined them close by (to pray, maybe), and a different slave who looked rough around the edges. Scars, muscles. Were they a pitfighter? A labor slave in the company of many? She’d never seen them before, however briefly she’d lived in the Dark District and she’d certainly never seen them among those in the Valiant, but she figured it was in her best interest to stay away - or at least out of trouble in the case they did something about it.
What trouble could she cause? She didn’t doubt that if she tried to mingle, she’d bump into someone and they wouldn’t appreciate it. A sigh escaped, her attention turned elsewhere when she knew she wouldn’t be able to hear any conversation from where she was.
For how long would this day drag out? Would there be a service of any kind? A speech? She stole a glance up at the sky, watching the clouds. Hopefully Day didn’t try to look for her. He wasn’t usually allowed to be seen, and a labor slave with a familiar that followed them into the sanctum likely didn’t look good.
Post count: #2 | Word count: 368 |
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Post by carichimera on Jul 17, 2017 20:40:13 GMT -6
Mathias
What a beautiful day to be shaded over by such a crippling tragedy. As Mathias walked down the street towards the dark district he could hear the mourning sounds of the massive bells nearby, followed by the mourning sounds of many equines. He himself found it hard to keep a straight face, as the death of the young King spread about Aodh. Sure, he had only met him once on an unfavorable occasion, Mathias found the king to be quite a likable equine. Calmly, his hooves clack on the pavers as he makes his way to the Vatros Sanctem from his family home, the task he had been given the thing he repeated in his mind. It had been many years since his hooves had touched the marble floors of the Sanctem and his eyes had looked up and down the large doors, but this visit was not to pay respects to Ignatio like he had done regularly as a young stallion. The slave trader clears his throat as he makes his way through the crowd, keeping the stallion he was meant to speak with in his sights.
"Pardon me, Flamen Ulysses," Mathias interrupts the conversation with his calm words and a slight bow of the head. "I don't mean to interrupt but I was hoping to speak with you momentarily of a sort of proposition that I think you will find great interest in, Sir." The slave trader's expression was a normal, neutral one, with a hint of hope. After a moment, waiting for the Flamen's response he lets his green gaze drift to the company in his presence, particularly the labor slaves that had gathered for sanctuary. |
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Post by ThatDenver on Jul 18, 2017 4:42:19 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Ulysses smiled slightly when he was assured that the lack of a Flamines attire did not bother the young mare. He would absolutely not have fit in at a place like Sol or Ignis, where appearances were undoubtable more important. Absentmindedly he wondered what the other Flamines might be doing now – whether they were at their Sanctums, or somewhere else.
As the young mare introduced herself, Ulysses tried his best to commit the name to memory. Medical personnel were always useful to know, and although Edith was very generous in her aid, and in sending her apprentices over, sometimes things happened when there was no doctor on site, and at those times, it was nice to send a Sanctum Helper off with a name, rather than just a description.
“It has been quiet so far. Labor slaves are not always forthcoming about their pains and wounds – understandable, they can’t really afford to have Chevaliers notice them – so feel free to move about and talk to people. You can use the side rooms with your patients, that way it is a little more private”, he explained, nodding towards the doors at the sides of the room to indicate their availability.
Ulysses was about to lightly comment on the fact that doctors were certainly not expected to offer spiritual healing and he was perfectly content with her tending to physical issues, when his thoughts and speech were cut short by the large form of a stranger who strode towards them with purpose in his steps.
Curious and slightly alarmed at the same time, Ulysses lifted his head to meet the eyes of this much larger individual. They were not a slave – that was extremely obvious from their behavior and looks. In fact, he felt like he should know who this was. It was like he had heard the description sometime. Ulysses did not get out much, and even the hero of the terrorist attack on Crucible was not a familiar face to him.
The stranger spoke, and did not seem aggressive, which put the Flamen at ease once again.
“Yes, of course. Pardon me, Asalah”, the grey turned his head back to the mare with an apologetic smile, and then back towards the tall stranger.
“What is on your mind?” he asked the heavily built stallion before him.
Word count: 386
Post #3
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Post by InTheDappledRain on Jul 18, 2017 9:55:15 GMT -6
The horse nodded, immediately taking a step back as someone new approached the Flamen, allowing them the space needed to ensure that their conversation was private despite the room's size. It was obvious that Ulysses had other things to attend to, and did not want to waste his time working with a simple doctor when she was perfectly capable of her self.
So she turned away from the two as they both started up their own discussion and began to wander through the large sanctum.
And by no surprise took note immediately of the strange familiar that seemed to be in the room as well. Glancing between the various small groups of horses - which honestly was probably just sections of singular horses that happened to come here standing in groups - the mare attempted to figure out who exactly the creature belonged to... with little to no avail.
"And what are you?" She couldn't help but ask as she glanced at the other horses in the room. There were a few that seemed just as interested in the creature as she, but they were few and far between in this room of silent mourners - though one of them looked like he was just there because he had to be, not because he was sad or upset or anything.
She ignored the others for just a moment, turning back to the interesting creature with curious eyes. If there was one thing Asalah prided herself on more than her change of rank and knowledge of herbs... it was her knowledge of animals and the ability she possessed that allowed her to talk to them.
She just wanted to know what kind of creature she was looking at.
Post #3 | Word Count: 285 |
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Jul 18, 2017 18:04:35 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
The creature didn't seem to do much, and Omar's interest quickly dropped from the creature. Again looking about the room, his gaze landed on a newcomer, one he mildly recognized. Twelve years of continuously going to market and being passed around, he had a fair knowledge and memory of the various slave traders in Aodh. That was one. Didn't quite know his name, but he'd seen him doing the same business that Deidra and the rest of the traders did.
His suspicions were quickly raised, as, after all, what business did a slave trader have in a place like this? Pricking his ears, he focused heavily on the trader, who appeared to be approaching Ulysses. It wasn't a strain to listen in, as the room wasn't terribly loud. And the mention of a proposition made the chestnut's ears pinned. Proposition. Here. A trader coming here. What business would a slave trader have coming here, to make a proposition to the Flamen?
With a hard gaze, Omar shoved off of the wall, slowly moving towards Ulysses and the trader. If this blasted proposition turned out to be any sort that would upset the other slaves in here, Omar would take him by the neck and throw him out the door himself. His slowly recovering teke was strong enough for that, and if it wasn't stable, he still had his physical strength.
Stopping at Ulysses's side, a bit behind him, he lifted his head high. He didn't trust any proposition from a damned slave trader. The fact his gaze was sitting on the labor slaves just reinforced that. Holding himself back, he chose to merely be a looming presence behind Ulysses, let him do the talking. If the trader opened up a bit, great. Better to know what he might want before telling him to get the hell out. So Omar chose not to say anything too crass... Yet.
317 Words; Post 3
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Post by carichimera on Jul 18, 2017 19:52:36 GMT -6
Mathias|| Slave trader|| Aodh
The large stallion gives a rare smile when one of the slaves comes up behind the Flamen, quite aware of why his presence may be unwanted, of course he would be unwanted. Despite being passively threatened, Mathias turns to to Flamen Ulysses, trying to read him as he speaks. "I was told you are one of dying mindset sir, that you are compassionate to all equines, particularly slaves." The scarred equine tried to choose his words carefully, trying not to weigh too much into his words in case his information about this stallion was exaggerated. Though he could just come out with it and hope for the best, he wished to do this right as opposed to fast. "In the wake of this city's tragedy, my associates were hoping you would provide aid when we... Liberate the city of as many slaves as possible." The stallion couldn't speak more carefully, searching the Flamen for signs of distaste or anger. The draft mix turned to look at Omar, hoping that the slave understood that he in fact meant no harm.
Mathias shifts his weight on his large hooves, holding his head high. The stallion did not seem fazed by what he was proposing, in fact he seemed proud. Formerly the slave trader would often be seen about the marketplace, clearly unhappy with the sort of business he practiced, but he had found his... true calling.
"A lot is going on in Aodh, sir, surely this opportunity is too rare to pass up, as tragic as it is. The Chevaliers are currently occupied and surely wouldn't noticed a few slaves waltzing out the gates, or with your help, to freedom right under their noses."
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Post by MusicalMagpie on Jul 18, 2017 21:15:47 GMT -6
Jupiter | Commoner
Jupiter let his eyes wander from the statue to look over what to him was a growing crowd. The sanctum was occupied mostly by the workers from the Dark District. He let his gaze drop to the floor. What was he doing here? He wasn't from nobility, just a small artisan family, but there were plenty of other places he could have gone to mourn. Perhaps it was the dawning awareness of his luck. He was recognized as being the child of Albella, an artisan, fathered by an unknown figure. But it was the one labeled as his nurse maid that birthed him, a slave. It was only through the aid of others during a branding that he'd been spared the hot iron. It had begun to bother him, how close he came to a different life.
"Excuse me"
Hoof steps approached from opposite Milo. Jupiter found himself staring into a pair of familiar green eyes and two tall ears. Keeping a feel of his familiar he almost strained to hear what the mule had to say.
"You look very familiar. Do you know a foal named Jupiter?"
Jupiter's ruby pink eyes widened at the question and voice. He knew who she was, but not by name. She was there at the branding. She was branded. Jupiter's heart sank thinking about that event. A few of those in the cell jumped on a well timed lie to keep him from getting branded along with his mother. Taking a quiet breath for recovery he prepared an answer.
"Yes, actually, my name is Jupiter. I- uh- got hold of an aging vial not too long ago." He said with a cheery smile. "We may have met when I was much smaller. May I ask your name?"
On the other side, Asalah approached. Milo, the zesla, kept his weight against the white horse next to him and watched through dark brown eyes as the horse drew nearer.
"And what are you?"
Slowly turning a feathery head Milo replied just as he would with any horse, regardless if they understood or not.
"I am a Zesla of Sedo. I am called Milo by my brother." The lion bodied creature cooed with an intelligent tone, if not slightly condescending.
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Word Count - 374
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Post by fallenraen on Jul 18, 2017 21:34:40 GMT -6
[ Phoebe ]
What was going on?
Not for the first time that day, Phoebe’s attention was distracted by those that walked through the sanctum’s doors. She did not recognize the dappled draft that had made his way through the crowd, striding for that of that Flamen. He could have been anyone in the vast city, but what she did recognize was the tall horse who moved to be closer to the Flame. A bodyguard, she thought. That was what he had to be.
So, was this newcomer a threat then? Uncertainty pulled back her ears, the pony hesitating before she attempted to skirt along the edge of the wall she turned next to to make her way along the room to be near the conversation. Danger sent her in the other direction, it had her usually running for the hills if she could (or wherever it was that she deemed momentarily safe), but the Flamen had not seemed alarmed. What was there to fear? His previous company had moved away, not apparently bothered either when they’d instead approached the strange creature and their own.
“Excuse me, sir… but do you know what is going on?” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she had made her way safely without bumping into anyone or anything over. She’d stopped beside a fellow labor slave, almost as if hiding partially behind them away from the new visitor to the sanctuary. Not saying that she could help it much: she was a mere pony in a crowd that seemed to be mostly made of horses and in the company of a few drafts. It was something she’d gotten use to, a world of shoulders. “Do you know who they are?” If they were trouble?
They, the other labor slave, appeared older, hopefully wiser. It surely wasn’t a bad idea to approach them, was it? The teenager shuffled her hooves, feeling heat rise up in her cheeks as she wondered if she was bothering them. She didn’t mean to. All she wanted to know was what was happening. Her gaze ducked down, though from under her eyelashes she still peeked up at the horse she had decided to speak with. Had it been a good decision?
Post count: #3 | Word count: 371 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Jul 19, 2017 2:40:01 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Asalah moved away, and Ulysses made a quick mental note to talk to them again later. The large stallion seemed to be thinking how to phrase himself, which made the Flamen slightly more nervous once again. Not some light, easy request, then. He wished he knew who this gentleman was, as that would likely make it a lot easier to gauge what they were after.
Ulysses heard Omar falling into place just a step or two away from him. The unicorn turned his head to gaze at the large chestnut inquisitively. The ex-raider seemed especially massive when he positioned himself like this, and in this moment, it was not very hard to imagine Omar at the height of his fighting prowess.
Fortunately the stranger did not keep them in suspense for long. The first words made Ulysses’ ears twitch slightly, while his eyes quickly evaluated the room to see if the stranger had company – if someone other than slaves was listening in.
Associates. Smugglers, had to be. Ulysses’ face was contemplative, but fairly neutral. He was an advocate of compassion and the eventual end of slavery. His pacifist nature made him at odds with Vindicators, and some Smugglers just as well. In his cocooned and safe Sanctum world, it was easy to advocate freedom for slaves achieved by means of laws and government. Releasing singular slaves was, in the end, an end to individual suffering, not the practice itself.
He was yet to quite internalize the hypocrisy of going out of his way to shield two slaves, but not being entirely supportive of the idea of smuggling.
Ulysses let the large stallion speak his piece before considering a reply. Intellectually, he knew that this was most likely a good opportunity – the chevaliers would indeed be distracted, although to what extent was anyone’s guess. The labor slaves themselves were allowed freedom for three days, so they would likely not be immediately missed, should they vanish.
But there were risks. The events that followed the last escape were quite fresh on his mind, fresh on the skins of both Omar and Ealyn.
“Last time slaves waltzed out the gates, every other slave in New Valore paid for it. If I were to be in support of this plan, I’d have to know what the plan is. Surely your associates have more… Refined means of escape than simply walking out and risking immediate capture”, he said, surprisingly stern. Freeing a few slaves from within the Sanctum could not possibly be worth having every other slave bear the price of a retaliation.
“These are dangerous things to speak out loud, my friend. You seem to know who I am, but who might you be?” Ulysses asked, gazing back again at Omar to see their reaction to what the stranger was saying.
Word count: 467
Post #4
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Post by InTheDappledRain on Jul 19, 2017 10:09:36 GMT -6
Sedo. Asalah thought for a moment, eyes bright as her tail swished back and forth. That explained why she had never heard of or seen a creature quite like Milo.
Her first reaction had been to think he was a gryphon from the northern lands of Onea. After all, she had seen a few of them on her trip both up to the frozen lands of the War Forged and the way back home, when Aly had escorted her back to the city.
They had talked a lot about the cultures of their varying homes during the time. Asalah heavily focusing on her life in Aodh, only briefly mentioning that she and her sisters had gone through a relatively rough childhood... Though, that was more because Alyshia's father seemed to be much more of a force in his family's lives compared to that of Russe.
He had also doted on her due to her "mare-like" ways. Something she hadn't understood in full until Aly and her had talked about how the War-Forged often saw mares as second class. That was how they had gotten on the discussion of slavery and it's practices within the city of Valore...
If Asalah hadn't been so focused on the bird-cat, she probably would have taken note of the surrounding conversations, but she didn't hear anything other than the sharp words the creature spoke.
She smiled, dipping her head to the creature kindly. "I'm sorry for asking such a rude question." She began sincerely, feeling that it would be best to get this conversation off on the right hoof now that she was aware of the creatures origins. Sedo! She couldn't believe her eyes. Sure, she had read of the Zelsa's in passing, but most of her knowledge was scattered at best... meaning she understood about as much about the creature as what it's name was and that was about it. She hadn't realized just how powerful the creature looked until this moment.
"My name is Asalah, Milo. It is very nice to meet you."
She didn't hear the others as they continued their discussions, though she was faintly aware that more horses had gathered together in the sanctum.
Post #4 | Word Count: 365 |
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Post by mariahwhy on Jul 19, 2017 15:44:45 GMT -6
ISOLT
Jupiter's reply caused Isolt's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. While she knew of the existence of aging potions, she had never seen the effects in person. There were stories of servile slaves and pit fighters being forcefully fed them as a way to cut down living expenses before they were useful to their masters, but it certainly never happened with labor slaves. They were too expendable for it to matter whether they were a child or not. And the fact that this sounded like a pure accident... "HA!" she barked in amazement and amusement. The clipped sound pierced the susurrus of the sanctum, but she ignored the annoyed stares immediately cast her way. The mule stepped back to visibly look the young stallion, now only a few years younger than herself, up and down. "Well, by the gods," she chuckled. Shaking her head, smiling, she looked back up at the rosy eyes, still holding a naivety that belied his new appearance. "I'm Isolt." She dipped her head at him. The gesture was not executed terribly formally, but he was still a higher rank than her, and it was instinct at this point to show respect. "You were certainly smaller when we met. It's a good thing you did not drink that potion sooner; the guard might not have been so easily convinced of your heritage!" Her tone was light and joking, as if remembering an enjoyable, shared experience, rather than a horrible moment of oppression. A noise from the creature on the other side of Jupiter made her stiffen, and she looked nervously over his shoulder at the familiar. But the animal was not focused on her. Instead it's attention was turned to a paint mare that had approached. Isolt worried briefly for the newcomer's safety, but then realized that she was talking back to the animal. "Um..." she murmured, throwing Jupiter a quick "are you seeing this too?" look. The mare lacked a brand, and was therefore not a slave. Perhaps she was a beggar, driven crazy by life on the streets? Her appearance was rather well kept, but maybe that was in thanks to the Vatros Sanctum's hospitality. "Hello... Asalah?" she said, confused as to how to speak to this odd mare. Had Isolt really been paying attention, though, the name "Milo" might have rung a bell from Jupiter's words during the branding, and let on that Asalah was not crazy after all. "Nice to meet you too?"(Words: 401) |
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Jul 20, 2017 0:04:36 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
Omar's brows furrowed as the trader began to speak. This was perhaps nothing. But the mention of Ulysses' mindset towards slaves made him pause. Ulysses was kind to slaves. He experienced it himself. What did this have to do with anything? He pinned his ears at the final mention of "Liberate the city of slaves". He wanted to smuggle slaves out, with Ulysses' help.
Letting Ulysses speak first, Omar nodded, agreeing with his ideas. He was right. Walking out was not an option. Omar finally growled, his voice sharp, "You are wrong about "waltzing out under their noses". They will be alert. More alert then normal. They are looking for your king's killer, and anyone, anyone trying to leave will be under scrutiny and suspicion. They'll notice. Especially slaves! I'm damn sure of that! I've tried to escape for over twelve fucking years, and I ain't even made it TO the gates once! This is a poor idea, the timing is not right by any means, and if you try, I'm more then certain that you'll fall, and drag the slaves down with you." He snorted, stomping a foot.
"It's a bad fucking plan, and unless ye can come up with something a bit more refined then "waltzing out the gates" I ain't letting you take any of the slaves here anywhere." Omar added. Maybe he was a bit harsh. He saw the pride and hope on the trader's face. But he had to know how serious such a thing was, especially if they failed. He'd suffered from his own escape attempts before, and the results of the last escaped slaves were still quite fresh. He heard nothing else to the 'plan' that suggested success. He had his own fair share of experience regarding such things. Both with the escapes, and with creating plans himself. He did it as a Raider, studying and making plans for his Raider band, and he still did it here. He knew what he was talking about, and this was just damn poor work.
339 Words; Post 4
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Post by kaons on Jul 20, 2017 12:08:06 GMT -6
MaksimLabor Slave | Aodh
This newcomer wasn't branded as a slave but he had the scars of battle etched over his pelt, and to Maks, that usually meant slaver. The stallion narrowed his gaze slightly, one ear askew to better listen in on what would turn out to be a fascinating conversation. He was so invested in eavesdropping that he hardly noticed a little slip of a girl come up beside him until her voice - a sweet melody - reached his ears.
Maks furrowed his brows and turned his head in her direction, seeing a very small female settle at his side almost as if she were hiding. Immediately, the harshness of his gaze softened, and the grim set of his lips relaxed. She was young, and she was like him – branded and weathered. There was a gentleness about her spirit that Valore had not yet broken, and he found himself wanting to protect her from the pains he knew were waiting like jackals in her future. A hard road lay ahead for her, so she deserved whatever kindness he could muster now.
“I am not sure,” he murmured gently, his deep voice rumbling. “Let’s get closer and listen.” Maks turned and walked quietly toward the Flamen and this roughened stallion, eyes narrow and harsh again now that they departed from the little girl. Without thought, he angled himself as a shield, protecting her with his body. If called out, he would be surprised by his own subconscious actions, but he would stand by them firmly. He was old, and she was young. She had a future and he did not.
She deserved to live before he did.
The conversation was startling to say the least. The slaver was intending to help them escape – from what he could gather, and the Flamen and his over- sized body guard were denying them their chance. What did they know of this pain? This daily agony of waking knowing that only suffering would follow? How dare they stand in the way of even a possibility of escape!
The cold but fiery gaze settled on the hefty body guard and the Flame, and he lifted his muscled neck proudly on shoulders stiff from bearing the weight of labor. He straightened as much as he was able, feeling the muscles and bones creak within his worn body. “I would rather die with even a whisper of freedom than in the Dark District alone and enslaved,” he said – his first words ever spoken with an intention of escaping. He wasn't sure if they heard. His voice was still quiet, but the girl would hear.
He turned to her once more. "My name is Maks."
Words: 445| Post: 3 |
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Post by carichimera on Jul 21, 2017 23:39:21 GMT -6
Mathias|| Slave Trader
The stallion finally felt at ease among his company, or as at ease as he could given the subject of their conversation. He listened intently to the two's worries and became aware that perhaps his vague attempt at humor didn't get received so well, he was out of practice after all. "I am Mathias, sir. I am from a long line of slave traders and have been in the slave trade from a young age. Unfortunately I somehow blinded myself to the fact that just buying slaves from cruel masters and selling them to kinder one does not help anyone. When I and the other traders were put on trial for freeing vagabonds that were to be burned alive I came to realize that change in Aodh was happening, but it is my duty to make sure that the change is a good one. A benefit to our herd." Mathias spoke in an even tone, one that grew more somber as he went on. He, like many of the citizens of Aodh, turned a blind eye to the suffering of the slaves who were used to build their 'glorious' city. He had made himself think that he was helping the slaves he bought and sold, but yet he was only furthering the trade and encouraging it. The stallion's brows knitting into a scowl as he collected his thoughts.
"The smugglers have various ways of getting slaves free of the city, of course the gate in not an option, so the tunnels and boats will be the means of escape. It is true that the Chevaliers will be on edge, but they will not be any less distracted." The large stallion turns to Omar as he replies, the scans the Flamen for his reaction. "And given the circumstances, can we really afford to wait? I looked King Amadeus right in the eyes as I spoke out against the keeping and treatment of slaves, he was blinded to the suffering, not in favor of it! How do you think our next monarch is going to feel? In this time of uncertainty can we really take the chance of doing nothing, when a much more cruel equine could take control?" The stallions words grew more heated, his green eyes focusing on the higher ranking horse.
"Could you really live with what suffering may come next on you conscience, knowing that you could have freed even a handful of slaves but chose not to? Pardon my frankness, Flamen Ulysses, but I couldn't live another day knowing that I could have helped and didn't." As Mathias finished and started to calm down, he turned to the new voice. He saw the worn old equine, and felt that his point was made perfectly clear.
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Post 3
WC: 466 |
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Post by fallenraen on Jul 22, 2017 22:11:46 GMT -6
[ Phoebe ]
They neared the small group when the stallion in front of her advised to get closer and listen, ignoring the small whisper in her ear that told her eavesdropping was wrong. A slave did not listen in on the conversations of others unless told to, but was it truly a conversation she wanted to hear? She stayed close to the other labor slave, not minding his act of being her shield when he angled himself in front of her. In truth, she would want no one to notice the surprise, the hope, that skimmed across her face before it was snuffed out not a heartbeat later.
Escape? Leave? She could not leave Valore! What if Axenus was to return with this plan, the man’s plan to simply “waltz” out of the city under the nose of other Chevaliers. What if he thought something had happened to her in the time that he was gone - what if he thought her for dead? Dread pooled into her heart, her ears flicking back as her thoughts consumed her, too busy drowning in them to hear the protests of the Flamen and the slave that was his guard who pointed out how dangerous of a plan it was to merely slip out of the city when the slaves before them had caused all slaves after to become branded.
It was the horse before her, the tired man who rose his voice to be heard even if it was only by her, that pulled her from her fears. She blinked, eyelashes fluttering as she focused back onto the conversation again, and could feel the corners of her mouth pull down. He, among many, surely deserved his voice heard, didn’t he? How long had he been trapped in the Dark District, the city wearing down his body and spirit? She knew how others might feel: they too would rather try to be free than resign their fate. She had once accepted that the city would be the one that buried her when it was her time, the life of a labor slave one not expected to ever last long, but it had been Axenus that had promised her freedom. Could she dare to grab it before his return, to reach for it?
“I’m…” she hesitated, her ears still back before they slowly came back forward, “Phoebe,” she finished. In another situation, it might have been nice to meet him - all of them for that matter on a day not so somber when a plan so absurd sounding had been tossed out. The slave trader who introduced himself that Phoebe’s blue gaze drifted to, unsure.
Tunnels and boats, they claimed. Could they all really escape? Free from the chains of slavery? Hope was dangerous to have, but as was loyalty. Uncertainty had buried itself, leaving the teenager confused as to what she wanted more. What if the next King was cruel? Could the slaves really bear such weight? It was all she needed to decide what she would say next, her words chosen as carefully as she could. “I… I would like to help - if we… If this plan is allowed to go through,” she murmured, stealing a glance to Omar who had threatened to not let Mathias take any slave there before her gaze fell to her hooves. She hadn’t wanted to cause trouble, she didn’t, though any slave should be given the chance to try to see freedom.
“If the next King is cruel… If they will never change the way things are now… Then what difference will it make? If they somehow find a new punishment for us all for the slipping away of a few in the numbers they can barely keep track of? Some of us can’t - we won’t survive the next reign if it is too harsh. We cannot hold forever. A few of us should… should leave if we can - if it’s safe and no one notices us pass them by… Right?” When she had looked up, gaze skipping around those there as she’d spoken, her words soft, it settled on Maks when she was questioning if she was right in speaking up. Right in hoping that escape was the just thing for others such as him.
Post count: #4 | Word count: 707 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Jul 24, 2017 3:17:37 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Their conversation was pulling in more curious ears. It made Ulysses slightly nervous, for these were indeed dangerous things. Equines were killed for these sort of digressions, and who knew what would happen now that Amadeus was gone. His eyes quickly went to the few who had not yet joined them, and others further back who probably could not hear them. This was a difficult decision. He did not like jumping into things.
While Ulysses mostly felt conflicted and somewhat worried, Omar was… Angry. Ulysses made no attempt to reign him in, for Omar knew much more about escape attempts than he ever would. It was risky business for all of them.
He was never good at making decisions for others.
Ulysses listened to Mathias’ life story. Now that he spoke, Ulysses remembered where he had heard about this stallion – the Crucible, of course. Mathias had been hailed as a hero for a while, then imprisoned for going against what the chevalier’s wanted to do with the captives.
No amount of released slaves would ever change things. It did not change attitudes, hearts, minds.
His eyes moved to the two labor slaves. He felt for them, he did. But it was a selfish attitude, a desire for personal freedom, consequences be damned. Naturally the slaves were just as entitled to selfishness as any other soul, but that did not make it any less… Easy. Ulysses had always put the needs of the many before needs of one creature, before his own needs.
He could not realistically expect this from others, and yet…
It was the young girl that really strangled his throat. She was timid, and unlike the worn creature she hid behind, fairly well spoken and gentle. She was not commanding or talking about dying in a blaze of glory.
“Things will change one day. But it might not be within any of our lifetimes”, he said to the labor slave, his voice gentle, yet filled with sadness. Attitudes were slowly changing – there seemed to be more smugglers now, and those who were just apathetic to slavery, rather than actively eager to practice. But it would take years. Many changes would need to be made on many levels.
Ulysses turned back towards Mathias, assessing him. His eyes were not nearly as gentle as they were when he looked at Phoebe – Mathias was something of an equal, someone who was looking to risk lives in the name of what sounded like personal guilt. Admirable, but dangerous.
Courage was one of Ignacio’s virtues.
“Boats will not work. If they are looking for a killer, cargo and passenger lists will be checked. I lived in Enya Sanctum long enough to see chevaliers board ships in search of someone or something”, he said. If they were to try, it would be the tunnels.
His ears pinned slightly backwards as the large stallion kept speaking. Ulysses did not appreciate his tone, speaking of these things as if it was a matter of simply good or evil, a matter of innocence and guilt. None of them could wash their hooves of this. Ignacio would be the one to judge their souls in the end. No one else.
“The suffering is already on all of our consciences, whether we act or not. I have always been against it, yet that does not make me any less guilty. This Sanctum was built by labor slaves. These streets are maintained by labor slaves. Large part of what we eat is harvested and transported by labor slaves. Freeing a few slaves absolves no one. Do not ever think that it does. Changing this herd will be a thing we have to struggle with all our lives”, Ulysses responded, and while his voice did not raise in anger, there was an inherent rhythm and passion to it. He had more people to think off than those who were here today. His life was not about him.
“We can not get caught. It is not an option. If Vatros is implicated in directly assisting in the escape of slaves, the labor slaves will lose their permission to come here. That will deny them their respite, their only chance for medical help. This is not about me, you or our consciences. It is about the lives of many”, he reminded Mathias, sounding harsher than usual. Ulysses was not afraid for himself, but he was very afraid of what would happen if they got caught.
Leadership, passion, creativity, courage, ambition and pleasure. Those were the virtues he had sworn to uphold.
“But… I am willing to aid you. We must get those slaves that wish to leave to a tunnel entrance without provoking suspicion. It can not be obvious that they all came from here. It must be a clandestine operation, one that is aborted immediately if there is trouble. We should not get too greedy with numbers, as that will cause us to fail. We should devise an excuse to be walking around with labor slaves, should chevaliers recognize them”, he said, then asking the key question: “Where is the nearest entrance?”
He then looked to the slaves, who had introduced themselves, to each other perhaps, but he had picked up on their names: “Phoebe, Maks, could you please go through the crowd, and find those who might wish to either aid us, or try to escape? Be discreet, this is not the time for blind trust.”
Word count: 905
Post #5
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Post by InTheDappledRain on Jul 24, 2017 9:49:17 GMT -6
The small talk with Milo was quite abruptly interrupted as one of the other horses near Asalah felt the need to introduce themselves to her. The mare's head lifted for just a moment, eyes taking in her current situation as she tried to figure out what was going on... After all, the horse that now stood beside her looked quite... concerned... for the Mare's well-being. During this time, she also took a small mental note of the growing crowd around the Flamen.
Was he prepping for a speech? Hadn't he said something about not wanting to do one? What was going on?
Those questions would need to be tabled for a later time, though. As it seemed that Isolt was Asalah's first and, probably, the most important problem to deal with.
It took only a moment, but Asalah quickly turned back to Milo long enough to excuse herself from the conversation, apologizing to him about how rude she was being before she turned back to Isolt. It wasn't like he was going to probably be upset with her for leaving him, anyway. Most familiars seemed to prefer the company of their known households over that of anybody outside of their tight nit families.
"Oh!" The mare said, feeling rather embarrassed as she realized the strange look that Isolt was giving her. "Hi, I'm... um... Sorry about that." She smiled sheepishly, dipping her head to both Isolt and then to Jupiter, whom Milo had called his brother. "Your Zelsa is absolutely majestic. I'm sorry if I was intruding, I just had to know what kind of familiar he was." She then paused, letting silence stretch between the three before she realized just how silly she must have looked in the past few minutes. She coughed slightly before continuing. "I can talk to familiars, so I was merely trying to learn more about Milo here..."
A voice of conviction rose up from the gathering crowd around Ulysses, forcing Asalah's concentration, and train of thought, suddenly disappear. She flicked her ears forward. It sounded as if they were speaking of slaves?
She wasn't sure, but it seemed the crowd was growing more anxious at each passing minute. Asalah felt her stomach lurch for just a moment. It seemed she always had a way of finding herself in "exciting" adventures, maybe this was no different?
For just a moment, her mind flashed back to the attack on the merchant ship she had been on. She had regretted not doing anything when the wrath of the gods had broken out upon the deck... maybe this time she could do something to correct her mistake.
"But... it seems we may have other things to worry about... Do you two know what's going on over there? I'm worried about the Flamen."
Post #5 | Word Count: 465 ta |
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Post by mariahwhy on Jul 25, 2017 11:11:35 GMT -6
ISOLT
The skeptical confusion remained on the mule's face as Asalah talked, and throughout the moment of silence that stretched between them before the other mare finally explained what had really happened. "Ohhhh," she mused, nodding her head sagely as if she had guessed the answer all along. But she never would have. With slaves blessings always cut off by their bridles it was easy to forget they existed. But here in the sanctum... Isolt looked around. Very few of the gathered slaves wore their bridles. It was simply tradition in the sanctum, but Isolt had never thought about it before. Perhaps because she had never witnessed such a large gathering of slaves in here before. An uneasy feeling began to settle in her stomach. Asalah's next words did not help to settle the feeling. Isolt turned to where the other was now looking. The Flamen stood under Ignacio's looming statue, flanked by a large slave. They seemed to be in an increasingly heated conversation with the paint draft (not branded as a slave, she noted) in front of them. Though it was out of place in the sanctum, a conversation such as this among the higher ranked would never have stirred any interest in Isolt. A slave should not concern themselves with the trivial problems of those that don't really know hard work. But the growing crowd of slaves around the trio told Isolt that this was no ordinary discussion. She frowned, and cocked her ears forward in a futile attempt to hear their words better. They stood on the opposite side of Ignacio, however, and the words were directed away from them. Had the room been quiet she might could have picked up the words, but now a rumble of concern was spreading through the crowd between Isolt and Ulysses that drowned out his words. She shook her head, but kept her eyes on the horses underneath Ignacio as if she stared long enough she'd be able to hear them. "I would not worry about him. I think he can handle himself." Particularly with that slave beside him.... She knew little of the pair, but she held respect for the Flamen. Few in the city would openly show concern for the slaves, and while his could simply be under the guise of religious morality, she had always felt that he truly felt sympathy for those that needed help. "It's that horse he's talking to that I'm more worried about."
She rolled her shoulders in the equivalent of a shrug, and turned a smile to Asalah, then Jupiter and Milo. "We might as well go find out what's going on. Everyone else is." But just as she began to move away from Alya's statue she noticed another equine, one who she knew as a labor slave, break off from the front of the group, and move down the recess towards them. "Hey, what's got everyone so worked up?" Isolt asked, ignoring the introductions. (Words: 491) |
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