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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 5, 2017 16:52:31 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Late Winter 1700 - Before Chapter 2
The winter’s back was about to break. That meant seasonal workers starting to move about, leaving their posts in the city to go look for jobs in the farmlands. It meant new building projects being planned, roads being serviced. A lively time, and the time of many accidents. Labor slaves naturally never had a true “holiday”, but big projects rarely came to fruition during the heart of winter, leaving them with tasks other than climbing the skeletons of buildings being erected in their beautiful city.
That was the usual thing. However, this year the Crucible itself, and many other parts of the city were damaged by Vindicators, which had kept the laborers, and paid workers as well, extremely busy. Too busy, and the pace was only picking up now that some of the paid workforce was heading out to the farmlands. The loss of laborers in the escape did not help either, although who could blame them for leaving?
With this amount of work, many more would be lost before the Crucible and its surroundings would be as they were once more.
For Ulysses, all of this meant more visitors. Most labor slaves knew that one could find aid at Vatros, and those that did not, often found out from friends by asking around. Edith had recently sold them a large stack of medical supplies, yet they were depleting quickly. He had also been offering food, and despite the unease brought on by the large scale escape, he had managed to keep his way of doing things in the Sanctum: no bridles, or at least no bits, for the slaves entering the Sanctum. It provided them some respite at the least, although Ulysses knew it was not enough. Nothing would ever be enough, not until Aodh itself had a change of heart.
He had spent a large part of the afternoon entertaining a group of youngsters, reading to them about the old legends. Now they had left, and with the workday coming to a close for most physical laborers, the Sanctum was reasonably busy. Many only came to eat and rest for a while, and others for medical aid – few were interested in prayer. It was a shame, but Ulysses made no demand of religiousness from his visitors. A sanctuary should not bar entry to anyone in need, regardless of which god – if any – they prayed to.
Word count: 397
Post #1
OOC: docs.google.com/document/d/1Kjh4Y5btze9-nmEP9J6S4-75TiM0_6v2jPnFA_65J7s/edit?usp=sharing Infrodump on Vatros.
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Post by Mad-Manx on Aug 6, 2017 14:05:37 GMT -6
Eshana | Mare | Labour Slave {Work had been hard these last few months, harder than she had ever known in her three years as of a Labour Slave. The destruction of the Crucible, one of Valore's many prides, had distressed many a citizen, so naturally it was the duty of their lowly servants to rebuild the magnificent building. As such, the Chevaliers had been pushing their already dawn to dusk work schedule as long as they could manage, doing whatever was necessary in order to return the grand arena to working order once more - so long as it did not require them to personally lift a hoof, that is. Perhaps the Pit Fighters would at least be revelling in their unexpected break, Eshana mused as she limped onwards. Gods knew they needed it, with the atrocities they were forced to commit for the mere viewing pleasures of others.
A part of her was still rather pained by the attack on the Crucible. Not for the damage it had caused, Valore could burn for all she cared, and not even for the extra work it had caused her. What struck a cord deep in her heart was she had not been able to take advantage of the chaos, to escape with the Vindicators when they had executed their raid. Images of the life she had left behind, of Briem and her family, flashed tauntingly before her eyes and Eshana forced her eyes closed for a moment, breathing in evenly all the while attempting to banish the upsetting thoughts from her mind. When it came down it it, there was a part of her that had to keep believing, keep hoping, that she would escape this hellhole that was Valore one day. Else she did not know what would keep her hooves moving throughout each passing day.
As it was, it was just her luck that she would be injured early on in the rebuilding efforts. A small slip had created an arcing slash along her foreleg, and while she, and the Chevaliers, had been quick to ignore the seemingly minor injury, heat had been quick to seep into the open wound. Rather than closing naturally, the cut had become inflamed and sore, weeping through any bandage she attempted to cover it with. It was not in her nature to willingly approach a shrine dedicated to the God of Fire, Ignacio, but with the pain in her foreleg spiralling into something very nearly unbearable, Eshana found herself left with little choice. Her cyan eyes lifted to study the large building, the Vatos Sanctum. There was something almost comforting about the fact it did not share the grandeur of most of the city, Eshana had to admit. It seemed set apart from what she now associated with the oppressive air of Valore, a welcome respite.
Still, Eshana entered the grey building warily, hindered both by her injury and her own anxiety. Never before had she stepped hoof in the building before, although she had seen it many a time crossing from the Dark District. Probably never would have either, had necessity not brought her to their doorstep. Yet here she stood, and immediately her eyes were drawn to the shrine of Ignacio. Hurriedly averting her eyes from the monument, she glanced hesitantly around the sparse room, not fully knowing where to go, or what she was required to do.
Post 1 | Words: 561 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 6, 2017 15:42:07 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Ulysses had retreated to the foot of the statue of Ignacio – it offered a good vantage spot over a large portion of the Sanctum floor. This made it easy to notice those coming in, and greet those who were on their way out, wishing them well.
His eyes were drawn to a grey mare who entered the Sanctum, and seemed unsure what she was even doing these in the first place. Ulysses knew this look all too well, and her broken horn and general, worn condition confirmed his thoughts: this was yet another labor slave, unsure if they were even welcome in the Sanctum. The Flamen quickly looked around, and after determining that no one else was currently in need of his aid, he approached the slave. As the distance between them grew shorter, he could see that despite the dirt and weariness, the laborer was a young mare. There was a certain healthiness to her that hinted at a different past, lived somewhere else, with less pain and strain.
“Welcome to Vatros, stranger”, he greeted with a smile, nodding his head respectfully. Up close he could see the wound – even through the bandage it left an ugly, red mark, and if he had to make a guess, this was the reason for her arrival. Still, he found it more respectful to ask, rather than assume: “Is it your wound that brings you here?”
Ulysses was not dressed in the fancy garb of a flamen – he hadn’t had the time to apply it before the rush of workers. He’d have time to don sacred ash and candles in the evening when he held an actual sermon, but for now, having no accessories was far more convenient.
Although there was a certain air of power to him - the confident stance, well kept body and the way he moved through the Sanctum with a sense of knowledge and ownership – there was none of the fanciness or haughtiness that one might find in a noble. Ulysses kept his hair short, and there were signs of actual work on his body. His smile was genuine and welcoming, curious perhaps, but not judgmental. He had not seen this laborer before, and he was always happy to meet another one.
Perhaps most importantly, nothing in him, be it his stance or his expression, implied a sense of superiority. He did not approach the young mare like one would approach a slave or servant. No, Ulysses came to each visitor just the same, hospitable, inviting and ready to help them in any manner he could.
If anything, he was less hospitable if he knew the other person was in a position to provide aid and moral example, but chose not to do so.
“I am Flamen Ulysses”, he introduced himself with an easy smile: “Who are you?”
Word count: 471
Post #2
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Post by Mad-Manx on Aug 6, 2017 17:06:57 GMT -6
Eshana | Mare | Labour Slave {Mere seconds ticked by before Eshana found herself being approached, the movement of his strides stirring her attention. Her eyes caught the painted bay unicorn's for a moment before being cast down, as was typical with labour slave interactions. They were part of all the city, after all, a moving, yet often unseen, force that worked constantly to maintain the level of brilliance and grandeur that most Aodhians had become accustomed to. It was not often they were addressed or even acknowledged, and Eshana had learned early on it was often best to keep one's head down. Rarely was any form of attention a good thing, particularly in this city when of her rank.
Yet, the way in which the stallion spoke caught her off guard, coaxing her eyes upwards after a few long moments. Although his brazen stride certainly did suggest authority, it was not so in the way the Chevaliers often carried themselves, with the prideful expectation for anyone before them to fall in line. His attire were not in the grand fashion she would expected from a well known shrine to Ignacio, and indeed had he not taken the opportunity to approach her, Eshana felt it was likely her gaze would have passed over him without a second glance. The Flamen were often considered rather highly regarded folk, and in Valore that often fell hand in hand with wealth and influence, along with the attitude that so often went with them. To have that expectation challenged was a welcome, if unexpected, surprise, although still did not succeed in putting her fully at ease. It would not due to assume that aid would be provided without a price, after all, even if that price was listening to a sermon on Ignacio.
Meeting his eyes for a brief moment, Eshana gave a short nod to his words. "I injured it working.... And it doesn't seem to be healing properly," she admitted, glancing down at the poorly bandaged wound.
Medical supplies in the Dark District were a rare commodity indeed, often won through the not entirely legal street races, or if one managed to catch the sympathetic doctor, Edith. As such, Eshana doubted the bandage she had applied had been the cleanest of things, which with a touch of regret she realized might have contributed to the situation she now found herself in. Yet at the time there had been little choice, with the need to staunch the bleeding and return to work as quickly as possible looming over her head. The price was hers to pay now, and she could only hope that the inflamed wound would still be easy enough to treat.
"Esh," she replied simply as her gaze flickered back to the Flamen, although her tone still maintained a guarded hint.
Post 2 | Words: 464 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 6, 2017 18:12:01 GMT -6
ULYSSES
As Eshana confirmed the reason for her arrival, Ulysses eyed the bandaged wound again. The bandage did not look particularly clean on the outside – dust and dirt clung to it greedily, and it was stained with blood. He has a sneaking suspicion that it might not look much better on the inside either. Doctors did not enter the Dark District, so any supplies around there were likely second hand… Sometimes more hands than that. He had seem some rather creative things in his time here, some of the solutions to minor injuries bordering on gruesome. Creativity was often the response to scarcity, and since labor slaves were a hardy bunch, well.
“You’ve come to the right place”, he confirmed, sounding appropriately friendly.
Ulysses looked back at the Sanctum, and quickly determined that one of the side rooms was available, but all his more medically practiced Sanctum Helpers were currently taken. Well, he had done some bandaging and basic cleaning in his time, so he could certainly start with Eshana, and call in someone more skilled if it seemed necessary.
“We can use one of the side rooms so you can lay down and we can take a look at your leg”, he said to her: “I’m not a medical professional, but we have a lot of supplies here, and if it looks too difficult for me to handle, I’ll call one of my more practiced helpers to aid us, if that is alright with you.”
Ulysses nodded his head towards the soup kitchen stationed near the entrance, close to where they stood: “Feel free to grab a bite if you are hungry. We have some carrot soup and bread today. Water is readily available too, of course.”
He took a step back, and indigated the private sideroom: “I’ll go ahead and prepare the room for you, join me when you can.”
Ulysses did as he said, heading for the room. He put down a new, clean sheet on the bedding of hay – a bunch of dirty ones folded away in the laundry basket told that Eshana was not the first medical visitor today – and began to sort through the supplies, selecting a bottle that said “for pain” and another which held a concoction to ward off infection and clean wounds.
One day he hoped to find them a magically blessed healer. Until that day, they would have to do this the traditional way.
Word count: 403
Post #3
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Post by Mad-Manx on Aug 7, 2017 1:56:06 GMT -6
Eshana | Mare | Labour Slave {The easy and welcoming way in which the Flamen addressed her caused Eshana's ears to flicker back, uncertainty seeming to permeate from her stance. Ulysses appeared genuine in his offer of aid and comfort, yet the simple extension of open compassion still managed to put her on guard. Condescension she was used to, utter disregard even more so, but helpfulness? Certainly some slaves offered that form of kindness to each other, their own sympathy winning out, fully fledged citizens that were willing to lend aid to the lowest the city had to offer were few and far between. Even fewer worked from a place of true altruism, offering help only if they too would benefit somehow from the result. Still, at the moment it was the best chance she had. In truth, what else did she have to lose?
Giving a quick nod, her eyes following his gesture towards the soup kitchen. The pleasant aroma of warm food only then truly registered with the mare, and while she was hesitant to indulge in the offered sustenance, she could not say the additional rations would be appreciated. Already a pang of hunger was echoing in her stomach, and after a full day of work it was a temptation she could not ignore.
"Thank you," Eshana replied with a dip of her head, beginning to make her way across the room as Ulysses turned to leave.
In the shuffling strides it took to reach the soup kitchen, Eshana took advantage of the time to study the room she was in. In did not quite compare to many of the Shrines that existed in Nariah, but perhaps it was just as well. The simple elegance of the building set it apart from the remarkably extravagance found throughout the rest of the city, giving it it's own unique air. As she would assume, Ignacio seemed to have the most prominent monument in the structure, although the alcoves beyond would suggest tucked away shrines still did exist for the remainder of the Gods. More than she would have expected from the average Aodhian, of that she could say.
Soon reaching the kitchen, Eshana gratefully received her portion with few other words exchanged, merely uttering a 'thank you' the equine serving her. The soup was as warm as promised, the bread and water alleviating what was left of her pangs. She took a few moments to rest in a lightly padded corner as she finished the food and water, relishing in that moment the feeling of fullness and comfort she was allowed in the brief time. A gentle, contented sigh echoed past her muzzle before she at last heaved herself back to her hooves. Regardless of how much she trusted the equines who frequented this building, she could at least admit that they came through on their offers.
Eyeing the side room Ulysses has disappeared into a several minutes later, Eshana made her way to the doorway of the more private room, hesitating before stepping hoof inside. Glancing around, her eyes fell upon the bundle of used blankets, wondering for a moment just how many had step foot here before her. She'd believe that a good deal of them were slaves, given the conditions many were subjected to.
Post 3 | Words: 542 |
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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 8, 2017 16:39:17 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Ulysses made himself busy with preparing the room to receive a patient, and when Eshana took a bit longer – she had probably made good on his offer for food – he began cleaning and organizing the small pieces of artwork around the various tables of the room. They were quite pretty, but clearly made by hobbyists. There was everything from paintings and wood carvings to clay figurines and metalworks. Whatever people could make, and felt were appropriate. Many depicted various gods, but there were small animal and equine figurines among them as well.
Eshana entered soon enough after he started on this project, and Ulysses turned to face her, smiling gently. His eyes followed hers to the pile of blankets.
“It’s been very busy lately. The Crucible construction is causing a lot of injuries, both with labor slaves, and poorer commoners who get paid to supplement the workforce… They aren’t put in the most dangerous spots like you are, but they still manage to get hurt, and they can’t afford a doctor either”, he said, shaking his head sadly. For all he cared, the Crucible could have been taken down and replaced with something that did not require as much blood sacrifices.
“Well, let’s take a look on your leg then. If you have any other sores, let me know. A lot of equines get sore lips from the bit, and we have some nice balm for that as well”, Ulysses went on, using his teke to very gently and carefully open the bandages, and reveal the wound underneath.
The surrounding leg was red and inflamed, the wound weeping blood. He suspected was infected, with this heat and that bandage. Ulysses could see some dirt stuck to the wound, despite the bandage – sand and dust and whatever else had been kicked up enough to make its way in.
“I’ll clean it with water first, get the worst out so we can see better”, he explained his intentions, getting some clean, lukewarm water and a small rag, using both to clean the worst away. It would probably sting, but the water was fresh water, and not straight from the ocean, so it should be bearable.
It was a shame the wound had already gotten this bad, but Chevaliers didn’t waste time with taking their charges to see medical aid, and not every laborer was brave enough to get help. From what he understood, weakness could cut their lives very short.
Word count: 408
Post #4
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Post by Mad-Manx on Aug 24, 2017 12:51:40 GMT -6
Eshana | Mare | Labour Slave {At Ulysses beckon she slowly slipped into the room, eyes glancing up to study the donated pieces that decorated the room. Art had always been something of an interest of hers, not one she had ever had any natural talent towards, but one that often caught her attention all the same. The one opportunity she had managed to slip out of Nariah and journey to Stirling had been an eye opening adventure indeed, and one she would not soon forget. Although the works set up here could hardly compete with the grandeur and intricacy of the various pieces she had laid eyes upon in that city, it still provided the unfamiliar room with a warmer, more comforting air. With a filled stomach and thirst quenched, Eshana could almost say she relaxed a bit as she slipped down on to the newly laid out blankets, stretching her injured leg out for proper examination.
"Unfortunately I can imagine," Eshana replied ruefully, hoping her words were not out of turn. Yet the Flamen's words did not seem supportive towards the grand structure that was the Crucible, perhaps because he was among those that often were left to treat the wounded. After all, the crowds loved to watch the wounds being torn open on the battlefield, but few wished to be responsible for the trauma left upon the competitors. She could only imagine that tending to those hurt in the aftermath led to a slightly more sympathetic view of the slaves forced to compete.
Eshana managed to catch herself before attempting to use her own telekinesis to help peel back the dirtied bandages that wrapped around her leg, knowing the bridle was still clamped firmly across her head. It was not the first time she had instinctively reached out, expecting to easily accomplish a task that, these days, was difficult at best. Instead, she chose to lean back as Ulysses set to work for her, wincing only slightly as the wound was exposed to the cool air.
"If you have any of that balm to spare, I would appreciate it," Eshana admitted as he continued to exam her leg. She rarely paid much mind to the metal bit these days, so a part of her daily life it had become, but all it took was to catch one of the grungy leather straps on something to pull it the wrong way, reopening wounds that had once healed. While it could hardly be considered more than an annoyance in comparison to her other ailments, the thought of a soothing balm to place on them was comforting indeed.
Eshana lapsed into silence for several long moments, complying with Ulysses instructions and allowing him to work uninterrupted. It felt.... Almost wrong to allow someone else to care for her these days, but without the means to heal the wound on her own, this was her best hope.
"Thank you for this," Eshana spoke softly, eventually breaking the silence as her eyes angled downwards.
Post 4 | Words: 496{Ahh, so sorry for the late reply!
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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 26, 2017 14:05:42 GMT -6
ULYSSES
“I’ll give you some to put on”, he said, before smiling sadly: “I’d give you a small tin of the stuff, it’s not very expensive to make or anything, but I am not sure if you’d be able to use it without your teke?”
Ulysses dipped the rag in water again, squeezing it slightly to remove some of the dirt already collected, and then took to the other side of the wound. It looked a lot better already, properly cleaned – red and inflamed, yes, but not as grungy. He was hopeful that it would heal fine.
After the wound was clean, he inspected it again. No puss as far as he could see, which was a good sign. Ulysses chose a herbal mixture intended for disinfecting wounds – he wouldn’t have known much about it, but Edith had helpfully written it in big bold letters on the container – and mixed it with clean water so it was easier to spread all over the wound.
“No need to thank me”, Ulysses said. He did not sound dismissive, but instead seemed to truly mean it.
“Proper medical care should be a common right regardless of station “, he went on to state, then eyed Esh a little more curiously for a moment. He wondered if she might have come from some other part of the world – if she had seen and known things other than this dark existence she was now cursed with.
There was a hint of something foreign in her words, but that didn’t always mean much – one could have an accent just from traveling, or having a parent who was an immigrant.
Although immigrants often ended up as slaves if they weren’t careful.
“Are you from around here?” Ulysses decided to ask: “You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable. I just, ah… Well, I spend a lot of time here. I like to live a little through the eyes of others, I suppose.”
There was much he had heard or read about, but never seen. Sometimes it felt like the world beyond there safe Sanctum walls was terrifying and evil. At others, it sounded beautiful. He loved every opportunity to hear about distant lands and different ways of life.
Mostly, he was familiar with the gods. Perhaps more so than the other Flamines, even. He worshipped Ignacio solely, but he knew of the four others, knew all their forces and blessings from his tomes. It was useful information, he felt.
Besides, not everyone in Aodh worshipped Ignacio, and Ulysses felt like those people deserved guidance just as well, even if their religious beliefs did not exactly align.
The wound was now covered in a watered down solution of herbs. Ulysses eyed at it critically for a few moments, and then put the rag away.
“Now we let it sit for a while before putting a new bandage on. I hope it didn’t sting too much”, the Flamen explained the procedure as it had been taught to him.
Word count: 501
Post #5
# No worries at all, I've been a bit slow myself lately
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Post by Mad-Manx on Aug 28, 2017 9:43:19 GMT -6
Eshana | Mare | Labour Slave {"I'm afraid it's unlikely," Eshana agreed reluctantly, knowing his words to be true. There would be few chances to apply such soothing balms herself, with her teke abilities as regulated as they were. Better it be left for those more in need than her.
She winced slightly at the pressure applied to the open wound as the clinging dirt was swept away, yet made sure to keep herself still as the Flamen went about his work. A few moments of stinging pain was surely worth the cut being treated by one more experienced than herself. At least it looked less angry now, unwrapped and cleaned up now as it was. Red and swollen certainly, but she had been too fearful to peel back the old bandage in case infection indeed had taken root. It was a relief to know that the wound was still in decent shape, and above all else, easily treatable. Eshana did not know what she would have done had it been much worse. Labour slaves were not exactly afforded the same care and courtesy as the average citizen.
His response to her thanks received a flick of her ear in response, a silent acknowledgement of his words. While his seemingly radically different views from the majority of the Aodhians was still a bit off putting, she still appreciated the that which he spoke. Wholeheartedly agreed with it, in fact. In Breim, it was normal for the basic needs of all to be provided for. Rations offered on a daily basis made sure no one went without food, and there was almost always a healer in one's community. If you were ever in dire need, you only ever needed to ask a neighbour for assistance. It was among the Old Generation that she was raised, and as time passed she had begun realizing just how grateful she was that that was the start she had in life.
Ulysses' query brought rumors forth to the front of her mind, speaking of the average lifespans of labour slaves in this city of fire and ash. Three years she had resided as one of Valore's servants, and yet common word would say that those of her rank would typically last no more than half a decade. Hope was a luxury for those of faith, and those still too young and naive to know the difference between fantasy and the harsh truths of this world. All those years ago she had pleaded that she was a child of Breim, not one allowed by law to be swept up into the unyielding embrace of slavery. Yet her words had fallen on deaf ears, earning her nothing more than glances of pity and disgust for the life she had used to live. Some would even be cruel enough to call it a blessing to be fetched from underground and brought into Ignacio's light, yet never once did it feel like anything more than a persistent curse. Eshana had eventually fallen quiet in her cries of mercy, choosing silence over the anticipation of punishment. Her past had not mattered to the majority she had spoken to, that is, of the few who paid her any heed, yet being asked now in the depths of the Gods' Temple, she could not help the bitter laugh that choked past her throat. She would humour him with an answer, she decided then, if only to be allowed the chance to speak of it once more before she was no more in this world.
"No, I am not from here," she murmured grimly after a moment, eyes misty with memories of a past life. "I was born to Nariah. That's... Where I grew up. I lived in the tunnels beneath Sirith for eighteen years."
It was not the place most Valorians would enjoy calling home, but it was her home nonetheless. The tunnels may not have always been safe, the outer works always at risk for collapse, in her memories it still felt an awful lot safer than walking exposed in this city of fire.
"Stirling always did have the most amazing art," she added wistfully, voicing her thoughts from earlier as she glanced towards the pieces that adorned the side room. Glancing up at Ulysses' final comment, she gave her head a quick shake. Certainly it had stung, but she had, and imagined she would continue to, endure worse.
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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 29, 2017 14:36:38 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Ulysses took the wait as an opportunity to take out the balm he had mentioned earlier, and gave it to Eshana so she could spread some onto her lips. It was a shame she couldn’t use it herself outside the Sanctum, as he would have gladly given her the thing. Even such a small thing could, or so was his sincere hope, alleviate some of the pain and hopelessness of the situation a labor slave always found themselves in. Still, at least she could use some now, and perhaps it would give her some reprieve.
He was pleasantly surprised when Eshana decided to grant him an answer. It was always lovely to have his curiosity and desire for knowledge satiated – a guilty pleasure of sorts, he supposed. Ulysses truly had little real experience of a life outside these walls, and he adored those who shared their stories with him. One could find plenty of stories in books, yes, but he had always found the tangible storyteller to be as important a part of the story as the words were. You could watch their expressions, their body language – see their opinions in how they chose and said their words. In writing, many things were laid plain, and much was left to the imagination. With a storyteller present, the teller could color your imagination, take painstaking detail in one place, and little in another. It was this element of equine nature that so fascinated him, beyond even the knowledge that was there to be gained.
And so, Ulysses listened intently as his young guest shared a short, but sad story. Her being from Breim surprised her – many of the Aodhian books, even those written by the most esteemed historians, detailed how breimen were small and wiry, with bad eyes and mole like tendency to hide from the sun. Few Aodhians had actually laid eyes on a breimen, at least not knowingly. Ulysses himself had, to his knowledge, never seen one before, although in reality, there were probably a good number of captured breimen among the slave workforce.
There were supposed to be none. But even Ulysses knew that this law meant little, and the slavers would happily take anyone that was easy to take. Those who made their livelihoods selling the bodies of others had little room for compassion towards complete strangers.
To them, those strangers were merely a payday.
“We are told that breimen are ugly and small, like rats or moles scurrying within cramped tunnels”, Ulysses said after a while, and looking at Eshana, the mere idea of it sounded quite laughable. His tone was amused as he added: “Although obviously that is not the case.”
His face then became more solemn once more, and he added with genuine compassion: “I’m sorry you have been brought here. There is a law, but it means little to those who would profit from ignoring it… And another law that makes it so that there is no legal way to free a slave outside the special right of a royal consort, and that horrifying fight to the death they put Pit Fighters through when a new monarch is crowned.”
He truly wished there was a different way. How often had he hoped that he could just release these slaves that came before him in various states of pain and hopelessness. Had they now given enough already? But even a Flamen did not wield such power. Only the King did, and Amadeus, well…
He seemed too young to be wielding much.
“Stirling sounds beautiful”, Ulysses mused. He had never been an artist himself, but he did enjoy art, and strived to patron it when possible. The grey did not have the eye of an art critic, that much was for sure, but he tried to cultivate young talent where he saw it.
“The art here was made by our patrons. Children, slaves, poor commoners… People who wanted to leave something of themselves for the world to see. Perhaps to prove that they were here to begin with. All of it is beautiful”, he smiled fondly at the items.
“We have a small shrine to Argus here”, he decided to add: “If you’d like to visit. Only us and Fernos have a shrine to him here in new Valore – he is not a particularly popular god here.”
Ulysses found it more than slightly ironic that Fernos, of all places, would now house a shrine to Argus, but perhaps that had been the intention. To smooth over some of the wrongs committed.
Word count: 756
Post #6
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Post by Mad-Manx on Sept 5, 2017 21:30:14 GMT -6
Eshana | Mare | Labour Slave {Eshana's ears flickered back at the pause in Ulysses' musings, the vile words echoing in her mind as she awaited some form of follow up to the blunt statement with bated breath. Only after he expressed his amusement at the utterly nonsense words did she allow her breath to slip from her lungs, quiet in her relief. Truth be told, there were many out there that truly believed statements such as those to be the uncompromising truth, that Briemians were lesser beings in their isolation from the sun. It was the reason she believed she had been so quick to be rejected as a servile slave, although whether the life of a labour slave was any worse, she did not know. Regardless, suspecting that her newfound caregiver believed in those words, if even for only the briefest of moments, threatened to hit her harder than she cared to admit. Compassion was a rare characteristic for a labour slave to come by, and the brief hour or so she had spent in the Sanctum made her realize just how much she had missed being treated with respect, as an equal.
"Even the pegasi of Breim may argue with that," Eshana replied with gentle amusement. "Even my brother never complained about having enough room for stretching his wings. You might be surprised at how large some of the caverns are."
His solemn continuation chased the amusement from her tone, but the gaze she settled upon him spoke nothing of condemnation or jealousy.
"I did not come here seeking pity," Eshana replied softly, a sad smile touching her eyes. "Trust me when I say I am familiar with the laws in place. I would not ask any to risk their life to aid me here."
A part of her wished to say she still had hope for the future, that she still had a chance in this world. Yet truth be told, any true hope had long ago been purged from her heart. All that remained was a waning flicker, no more than a fantasy that aided in lulling her to sleep on the most difficult of days. Eshana had accepted the path her life had taken, however grudgingly. It was not upon the shoulders of others to correct the mistakes of her own doing; that would always be her burden to bear, and hers alone.
"It's all quite lovely," Eshana murmured in response, glad for the distraction from the unsettling thoughts as her cyan eyes returned to flicker across the various pieces of art. They were, too. Of varying artistic abilities perhaps, but each individual piece held a certain appeal. Eshana had always wished she had been more artistically inclined, but alas it was not what fate had in mind for her. Music, that she had learned, -if with some difficulty- but the precision required by artists was simply not something she possessed.
A quick twitch of her ear was all that betrayed her thoughts when Ulyssess commented on the shrine to Argus, although whether or not the Flamen had managed to catch it, or the meaning that remained unspoken, she was not sure. It had been quite some time since last she prayed to Argus, years, it must have been now. Her first nights in Valore had been spent pleading, begging, to any of the Gods that might listen to her, might hear her fervent prayers. Yet night after night they had remained stoic, silent, as she slowly receded into the crevices of her own mind, valuing survival above almost all else. The Gods, if they were there, did not smile upon her, and after all this time she was unsure if she could face even the statue of her old Patron God.
"I'll keep that in mind," she added after a moment, hastily dipping her head in thanks for the information.
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Post by ThatDenver on Sept 7, 2017 9:58:12 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Tunnels great enough for pegasi to fly? It sounded rather fantastical, to be honest, but he found no sign of lies or trickery on Eshana’s face. Perhaps they really were that large, would explain why people would choose to dwell within them in the first place. And well, gods had the power to create all manner of wondrous things, so who knew.
Some Aodhians were travelling to Breim right at this moment, or at least they would be on their way soon enough. Ulysses was never good at keeping up with what the nobility and other important people were up to – they did not seem that important to him in his own daily dealings. Once they returned, perhaps he could hear from them more about this mysterious land to the east, these vast tunnels fit for flying and living alike.
“There are some who risk it for slaves”, he told Eshana, more quietly: “But they keep themselves in shadow, for obvious reasons. They are almost like ghost stories, in a sense.”
The Smugglers. He was fairly certain he had seen a few, talking in the halls of the Sanctum to a labor or servile slave, who would later vanish from Aodh. It was an activity he understood, and respected their bravery, but he also did not see it ever solving the problem that lay at the core of the herd. Freeing slaves did not end slavery, it only ended personal suffering.
And personal suffering, while great at times and a reason for concern, was still not all. Ulysses wanted all to be free, and sometimes it felt like the actions of Smugglers, and even more so the Vindicators, merely fed the mill to a more violent, faster cycle. There were always more unfortunate souls to capture and drag into the machine. The violence made it seem just to hate them, to hurt them, to treat them as lesser beings. And so the cycle would begin anew.
He wondered if the cycle would ever end. He certainly hoped it would. None of them were truly innocent to it. They could only hope to wash away some of the blood from their hooves.
His eyes returned to the wound, and he deemed it was time to return to work. He took a clean rag, and gently dried off some of the solution that had been sitting on it – while it was good medicine, too much of it would cause the wound to fester if bandaged tightly.
“I don’t deal in pity”, Ulysses noted softly as he cleaned the wound. The swelling had already settled down a little, and he had high hopes for a full recovery, as long as the bandage would stay on, and more dirt would not make its way into the sore.
“Compassion is far more important. In a perfect world, all of us would be free to pursue their goals and desires”, he went on to add. In a perfect world, Eshana would not be here as a slave, but as a guest. Ulysses would have grown up with two parents, instead of single, elderly adoptive mother. Solaris would not have died to suddenly, leaving the greatest kingdom in the world to be ruled by a naïve, sheltered child.
Many things would be quite different in a perfect world.
Sadly, the world was not perfect, and never would be, not outside the dreams of the mortals.
The Flamen was gentle as he took out a roll of bandages, and after applying a small pillow of cotton to absorb any blood or other fluids that might still escape the wound, he pulled it tightly around the leg. The bandage, once finished, was tidy and snug against the leg – the clean white bandage a stark contrast to the old one. He made sure with a few easy checks that it wasn’t too tight and would not restrict blood flow, and then nodded to himself, quite happy with the end result.
“There you go. Please come back if you need it bandaged again, now that the wound has been properly cleaned once, reapplying a bandage will be a quick thing to do”, he said, rising up and stretching his body. Ears turned towards the main room, as he listened in on what was happening. Sounded like all was calm and good in the Sanctum.
Word count: 723
Post #7
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Post by Mad-Manx on Sept 9, 2017 21:45:40 GMT -6
Eshana | Mare | Labour Slave {"There are those who risk it for slaves."
The words rung in her ears long after the words had left his lips. It was true she had heard the whispers, the excited and hopeful murmurs that spoke of the few in Valore that did not support slavery; and even more rare, those who chose to do something about it. When first she heard of them, Eshana had been convinced they were merely the imaginings of downtrodden slaves, conceived in the midst of the night when even the best of them wished to know why it was worth carrying on. It would make sense; the heavens knew she had called endlessly upon the gods, any who would listen to her pleas, when first she found herself shackled in chains. She could not blame anyone for earning for even the most obscure thread of hope. Yet the utterance, when made by one unaffected by the plight of slavery, struck up a new spark in her. Perhaps the rumours were not quite the work of fiction she had assumed them to be. Not something quite worth getting her hopes up for, but certainly something to keep her ears pricked for, the elusive whispering of these so called smugglers.
Eshana only winced slightly as Ulysses swept the clean cloth through the wound, brushing away the medicinal salve that had coated the angry injury. The redness had already abated significantly, the swelling that had once plagued it down to a far more manageable level. Even the pain had been reduced, no more than a dull throb wavering at the edge of her consciousness. She did not know what solution the Flamen had opted to apply to the laceration, but whatever it was, it seemed to have done its job. Relief washed over her at the realization, knowing now that whatever infection had been festering in her leg had been swept away, at least for now. It would have to stay clean going forward, she knew, but baring additional injuries, it would seem the worst was now over.
Ulysses' next words derailed her train of thought, bringing her back to another time, one that seemed so long ago these days. What would she have done, had she remained in Breim? It was a decision she had never quite brought herself to create a verdict on, even well after the time she should have known with certainty.
'I'll decide when I'm home,' she had told herself, told her parents, told anyone who bothered to ask what it was she planned in life. Of course she had never been given that chance to return home, but even now it was a question she had no answer to. Her parents would have enthusiastically welcomed her into the life of a miner, had she agreed- that much she was certain of. In fact, any career pertaining to the Old Generation would have been a fine choice in their eyes. Yet, she never had been certain that was the path in life she would have chosen herself. Whereas her younger siblings seemed to have found their calling early on in life, she had never stood among them in that way. Thinking back, perhaps that was the reason she had had such a compulsion to travel in her youth; to seek out a purpose she simply did not have at home in the depths of Nariah.
Her cyan eyes once more dancing across the room, the weight of the leather and the force of the metal bit in her mouth all too noticeable, Eshana very nearly found herself scoffing at the idea. Whatever it was she had been searching for, she was quite certain she had failed to find it.
She remained still and quiet as Ulysses finished his task, applying a final bandage to protect the newly cleaned wound, thoughts drifting as she allowed him to work undisturbed. It was a pristine, untouched white compared to her recently discarded dressing, and Eshana could only hope that it would remain so longer than the last one. She did not wish to have to return here in a week's time- although her anxiety over such a venture was considerably lower after having spent the time under Ulysses' care. Let the more needy than she seek sanctuary here, but as a last resort, it was far from the worst of options.
"I should be going," Eshana spoke after a moment, once the bandage had been snugly wrapped. Noting his glance to the sanctum's main chambers, she pushed herself to her hooves, tentatively placing weight on the injured leg. A throb returned, yet not nearly as piercing as it had been earlier. It was certainly improvement, and hopefully now without the risk of infection clinging to it, the laceration would heal naturally.
"Thank you, again," she added as she rose. Although he had protested against her earlier words of gratitude, the words fell from her mouth out of obligation, the only expression of appreciation she knew how to demonstrate. She was genuine in her words, after all; compassion was something she had learned not to expect from all she came across.
Knowing no other words to say, she paused to give a final nod of her head towards the Flamen before exiting the side chamber, eyes drawn once more to the erected prayer idol of Ignacio. This time, however, her eyes were drawn beyond that; to the crevice in the wall Ulysses had mentioned earlier, to the room he had said held one of the few idols that existed in Valore of Argus. For the briefest of moments she paused, fighting an old and altogether unexpected desire to draw nearer, giving her head a brief shake before striding towards the large doors.
'Perhaps, just maybe, next time.....'
Post 7 | Words: 962{Ahh super last minute reply, but I figured it would be good to bump us up one more AP level!
This was honestly a lot of fun, I'm really glad I got the chance to roleplay with you! Ulysses is honestly such a great character! <3
Edit; Uploaded over here! (https://manx123.deviantart.com/art/SA-Vulnus-Sanitatem-703660011)
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