Private Tales In the land of the Pigs

[Ashara Raja]

Cerak At'Thul

One of the things Jor-Daben had told him before he left was, "Your path will lead you to many friends, and just as many enemies. Its hard to learn from someone that knows you are their enemy though." It was the old man's way of telling him that he didn't have to draw swords against everyone he disagreed with. The rest of the world wasn't like the Wilds.

Kill or be killed wasn't always the rule of the day, sometimes waiting and watching could serve one far better than fighting. Thorn had to take those lessons to heart. The city, Cerak, was known as a pirate's dream. Some people called it the Capital of Crime at Sea, others the Slaver's Port. Thorn was no slaver, and he wasn't about to go out of his way to help them, but no your prey was something every hunter learned early in life. Best way to know a man was to walk alongside him.

The ship Thorn had booked passage on wasn't a slave vessel, he wasn't that progressive. The captain had been asking for hands at the small smuggler's port he had found off the coast of the Allir Reach, and Thorn signed his mark on the page. Six coppers a week plus meals. Two coppers removed for the expenses his bird would incur. Geron had been more than a little offended by that deal, and if the pirates could have understood the buzzard they would likely have ended up paying him as a crewman too.

While at sea the pair didn't do much, the pirates were more concerned with delivering cargo they had already acquired to the markets in Cerak than they had been at finding more of it. By the captain's math, they had been at sea six weeks before making port at Cerak, though he only had half upon making port, claiming the rest of everyone's pay would be up once he sold the merchandise and paid some fees here and there. Thorn shoved the coin into his pouch and sinched up the leather bag, Geron on his shoulder, shield and bow across his back.

Surprisingly enough, he wasn't all that special walking through the docks. Already he had spotted a half dozen hooded swordsmen in the city and he wasn't even really keeping track. Slave traders dragged along new stock towards the markets, a grimace passing across the weathered man's features as his eyes pulled away from the appearance of the poor unfortunate souls who had been captured only to be denied death and forced into servitude instead. His heart went out to them, but there was no way he could afford one with the copper and silver he had, and there was no chance one man was going to be able to free that many malnourished bodies.

Know your prey. Walk in his footsteps and know him.

Thorn shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the shield and quiver on his back, and started walking towards the market area. No reason he had to stand by and watch these people get treated like cattle just waiting to be slaughtered. Geron fluttered his wings, his mood a little sour from having been trapped at sea for so long, but his curiosity was building about this place and bleeding through the bond he shared with the ranger.

Akasha Du'vuema

 

[Akasha Du'vuema]

The good ol city of Cerak... Or maybe that was giving this place far more credit that it was worth so much. These facts didn't truly matter to Akasha Du'vuema as she had to ponder her master's words while on the way to the market. Today is when the Cerak would be receiving a new batch of slaves, ready for work and training. From her experience with being a slave as well as assisting in the management of slaves, it would definitively be a costly job if the owner isn't properly prepared to manage them. Let alone the prices for feeding, health, and loyalty. Loyalty is always an issue as she's seen many other of her kin, ready violently to be made examples of. Not many owners in the city knew how to inspire such a thing, but to her own luck her master seemed to be an exception.

Before going through the streets of Cerak, one such as Akasha would normally be escorted by one of her master's more loyal sellswords. However in this instance she was taking step by step within the streets of the city all by her lonesome. Her collar clearly on display to present her status as a slave, as well as her connection to her master. An odd spring to her step that had put her out of place amongst the grime and dirt within the city streets. With every movement she made it was evident that she was taking care not to step in any sort of gunk that anyone was careless to leave behind.

The gloomy scene around her was something she could not help but notice every time she walked the streets. Her fortune was always reminded to her one way or another and the odd amount looks she got from everyone including fellow Komodi was something she grew up with. Hopping from spot to spot as her semi bare feet landed on what could be assumed as dry spots among Cerak. Occasionally peering up to ensure she was going towards the market place as well as looking back the way she came. Knowing well her master might be a bit irritated she didn't wait for her escort. As her eyes were keeping a wary look around for the escort she was expecting to arrive.

Eventually making it to the crowded market space to see her escort anticipating her arrival. Without hesitation she decides to collide into him sprawling to climb and sit atop his shoulders to see past the crowds. "Aha! A great steward to my beauty! Either you've finally grown accustomed to my mischievous ways or perhaps you cheated and bought the answer from my master." The gruff man huffed in annoyance, but did nothing to dissuade her rather boisterous exercise of vocabulary. "Onward to the markets!" She tried to motion him forward before he tossed up a dirty Brown cloak. Carefully grabbing it with a look of disgust before receiving a stern glare from her compatriot. To which she reluctantly grimaced and puts it on with the hood.

with holes properly placed to allow her horns to slide through with little trouble. They were there to take in three slaves of potential, considering not everyone could be bought and fed. Akasha was meant to discern which of the ones had a chance to live long enough that their bodies could recuperate and grow strong enough to be of service. After all a slave is no good unless they would willingly die for their master.

Thorn

 

[Ashara Raja]

Thorn stood around, looking at the stalls in the market square. Handfuls of shady merchants selling pilfered goods found all around the world, and the ranger was looking over what was being said to be fresh produce at one of the stalls. The merchant was making a big claim about the freshness of the goods and how he sold them by the crate. It was clear he mostly sold to ship captains who didn't have time, or didn't care enough to check them. Thorn had plenty of time, and only wanted a few oranges for his walk around the city so he was able to give them more than a cursory glance. It took a moment of digging before he had found the one he wanted, too many with dark mold growing on them or obvious signs of worms, dumping a single coin on the bench for the handful.

Several went into his travel pouch alongside the dried fish and hard tack, while one was peeled for consumption. Geron quickly gobbled up the peel, devouring every morsel he was ever handed without ever asking what it was. The buzzard bawked softly with contentment, quietly enjoying his small part of the snack while Thorn cut the fruit and took a bite from it, juice filling his mouth with the sharp sugary flavor.

The wayfarer continued walking through the streets, stopping to glance into each stall as he passed. "What do you think Geron? Good enough steel for a few arrows?" He asked the buzzard, holding pieces of junk steel that had been salvaged and was now being sold by the pound for mending equipment and tools, making chain or anchors at sea. The buzzard licked his nostrils, clearing his ivory beak of the orange juice that had ended up on his bald head. The creature looked up long enough to inspect the steel before hissing something that almost sounded derogatory. "Well, hunting broadheads don't have to be castle forged steel. I'll take it." The bird shrugged and went to preening itself while perched on his shoulder.

Thorn continued his walk through the market district, listening to the talk, so far there was nothing so sinister as the city's reputation in every corner. Merchants were always varying degrees of untrustworthy, always concerned with their own greed. The slave trade was flourishing, but even in this pit of the world not every shadow provided cover for evil and darkness.

Always shades of grey outside the Wilds.

Akasha Du'vuema