Open Chronicles Links of Destiny

[The Vesperai]

Spoiler: Music

"Step up, come right up, show up; feast your eyes on the prize, people!"

"Elves from Falwood, real genuine elves, full blooded, speaks Elvish flawlessly . . ."

"Dwarven craftsmen, tireless as stone! Buy seven for the price of six!"

"Orcs, as big and green as they come, feisty and furious, bodyguards, gladiators, labourers, you name the want!"

"Drow twins, get your drow twins, cheaper than seven dwarves and worth ten times as much--"

"Oy, you shut your trap!"

"Kivren with LEGS! Get your hands on a kivren with LEGS!"

The hollering voices pounded his ears. Sound had a strange, sharp quality to it out of water. Too loud. Too unconnected; drifting off into air. The Vesperai tested his arms against their restraints . . . chains still wrapped around them, as well as his legs. He stood spread-eagled between two pillars, hoisted aloft like the catch of the day. Except it wasn't fish being sold in this market. Sluggishly, he raised his teal-tinted head, gills fluttering weakly with distress.

Here, people were peddled.

He needed to be in water soon. He was drying up in the heat and sun, even with the overcast sky. Cerak at'thul's climate was usually endurable, mostly because water was never far away. This was the first time his skin had burned and cooked so painfully.

Still, despite his disorientation and his exhaustion, he connected the shouted name Kivren with his captor's voice. So that was what they thought him to be. No doubt they mistook him for something else. None of his kin had made it this far from home.

It seemed increasingly unlikely that he would ever return and tell them what a terrible place the surface was. All around him, faces coloured in varying degrees by the sun leered at him, or speculated his worth, crowding his stand.

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

Overcast made it easier. It was still bright, and it was still... sunlight. His heavy hood, drawn long over his face, helped exponentially, but still, the Vampire had to make do.

A trail had led him here, and cold and calculated positions taken had pushed him further into the depravity of the world. The Vampire stood in the crowd, observing, watching. Lives traded for profit. It was hard to care, when he'd outlive everyone here. If he was unsuccessful, that is.

Eyes flickered over to something he did not understand. Bipedal. But.... not quite elf. Not human, certainly. Smelled off. A scratch of his chin, and the Vampire turned his back to the sun. For the moment, he watched. It was not a Kivren. That much he knew. They smelled like saltwater, something to do with their blood. Their blood did not taste the same either.

He did not smell like Kivren.

The Vampire made eye contact with the "Kivren with legs". Pale, yellowed eyes locked in on him. Even in this part of the world- the eyes of a Vampire, a creature of the night, were unwelcome and frankly, more importantly unsettling.

 

[The Vesperai]

Old, nocturnal eyes of the vampire met an alien gaze. The vesperai's eyes were lidless membranes, all pale-blue sclera, mostly separated from the rest of his face by the deep cavities of their sockets.

But as their lids nictated horizontally, Kristopher would see a near boundless depth to them. Where most eyes might be windows to the soul, exposing great expression and intent, these eyes seemed rather corridors into an altogether different world.

Then, the visions began. A layer across the sight; an intrusion upon the eye flashed before the vampire's venerable gaze, brief but distinct and colourful as three humming birds.

Of chains loosening, freeing lean, muscled arms of the vesperai, decorated in coral paraphernalia. A plea.

A boundless depth of deep sea, so dark and vast as to be near incomprehensible to surface eyes. And something moving through the midnight-blue darkness like a massive, underwater ship . . . or a leviathan-sized whale, throwing a deeper shadow than its environment. An omen.

These flashing images ended upon the vesperai's hands, again. Overflowing with wet gold coins, glittering jewelry and other glinting treasures. The black-nailed fingers of the vesperai clutched these surface-coveted metals and crystals, raising them from a rippling pool of water. An offer.

The limited and wholly visionary telepathy ended when the slaver blocked their eye-contact. A half-orc with a nasty scar shutting his one eye and splitting his grey-bearded face in twain; sour expression somehow worse than his unhealed wounds.

"You looking to buy? Or you just ogling my wares?"

Kristopher Mortas

 

[Archanae]

Among the many slaves on display, none from her own people stood among them. It was a strange comfort.

Every day she was in City of Slavers, she felt obliged to take stock of the fleshmarkets, at least once. To see if the dwindling strength of the Nazrani tribes had dwindled any further; and siphoned into the voracious maw of Cerak at'Thul.

But though she saw none of her own people, there was another who caught her eye. A creature quite unlike anything she had seen before; sporting the blue skin of Kivren, the fins and the gills, webbed hands; but strong legs as well. All covered in a thin film, as if moisture clung to his skin like an extra layer. Although he looked weakened, hanging by his chains, forced to stand, his long, thin limbs bound in iron.

Archanae gathered her sand-coloured shawls about her and approached slowly. Each footfall studious, carefully intentional and performative in ignoring the stares that came her way.

It seemed another had caught sight of the strange slave on sale. A pale, hooded stranger, definitely a traveler to these lands. She could only see the back of his cowl, but he seemed to be locking eyes with the prisoner, before the half-orc slaver addressed him.

She hung back, for now. One finger idly carressing the sapphire medallion around her neck; winking the sun like a third eye near her collar.

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

He turned his head towards the newcomer, approaching the Kivren-like creature. Aquatic. Semi-aquatic? He'd seen stranger things in his time. His long, long time drifting around. The half-orc's line of questioning brought him back to the present, and he turned his head.

His yellow, vampiric eyes looked the Orc up and down. If the Orc knew, he'd know better than to cross him. Kristopher could kill a great many of the people here and not break much of a sweat. Not that he could sweat anymore.

"Slave-peddlers. And they call me the lowest." He inclined his head towards the blue-skinned man.

"That one. What's the story, stranger?"

 

[The Vesperai]

"Caught in a net," the slaver replied. "Pulled out from the sea by fishermen. They panicked, of course. So we bartered and took the creature off their hands. They seemed to think it some omen from the Gods." The slaver spat a black gob out the side of his mouth. When he wiped his mouth, an amused grin crinkled his scars, hard as cold cash.

"Omen or not, it'll fetch a fine prize from the wizards or alchemists here. I'd bet my spleen they'd want to cut it open and have a look inside for their reagents. So if ya want to buy, you better do it quick."

He finalised his assessment by taking a swig from a flask in his belt, liquid spilling down his jaw. The gesture caught the eye of his prisoner, whose blue eyes almost looked mournfully at the spilled water, counting each drop hitting the planks.

Kristopher Mortas

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

"Give him water, or you'll have no product at all."

Kristopher said, with a slight inclination of his head. He turned and looked at the sky, for just a moment. Then, his cruel eyes fell back on the caged beast. It'd be night sooner than later. Dark. Quiet. Perfect time for him. He looked at the Half-Orc, vampiric eyes finally locking with his.

The thief could only grin.

"No. Not buying today, stranger."

Half-Orc blood. Tasted like rust. He'd feed on him later. And feel no guilt about it. He didn't feel any guilt here. This island was guilty. But not the thing in the cage. That thing- deserved pity. Kristopher's head turned back towards the creature as he walked away.

The creature could hear faint whispers as he did, in, around him. Unintelligible, but there. Close. Kristopher faded into the crowd, and posted himself at the outset of one of the incoming warehouses. He'd bide his time. Wait.

Then, he'd do what he'd do best:

Sneak in.