Fable - Ask Of Pirates & Slaves [Empire]

[Elspeth Sirl]

Annuakat
Riverside Merchant District

Between the merchant calls and the commotion of buyers in the market, the din of the port slats could only be described as a droning buzz. Here good exposure was at a premium and so was the shade. It paid to arrive early and stake your claim - the Tera'terre were not ones to accept the second best locale.

Off to the left of the center stage auction platform, poles of polished wood held up a mass of white material. They billowed in the salty breeze with the call of wind chimes at the corners and the scent of burning herbs. Two gnoll guards stood at either side of the open, arched entrance, their figures adorned with the customary gleam of gold that tied them to an entity of either high rapport, renown, riches ... or perhaps all three.

There were no walls to block the view of the products found within: slaves of great variety. All ages, races, and statures. Some performed dance while others crafted. A harpy with a gilded collar sang a soothing tone while an elf next to her plucked upon a small harp.

These were not slaves one purchased to work the wheat fields.

Just beyond the entrance a smaller stand attended by a variety of assistants spoke with consumers who stopped to question their inventory. The myriad dialects and languages being exchanged was enough to sting an eavesdropper's ear. Among those in the stand was a female gnoll that turned the heads of quite a few. Far larger than those found in Amol-Kalit and curiously marked. A foreigner in an exotic land, she spoke a language that belonged halfway across the world while a human translated at her side to a man bearing the insignia of the neighboring Maltan Kingdom.

"The Sha would be pleased to speak with you on the subject of regular orders..." the man waited while the gnoll spoke quietly in her native tongue, "...whatever his needs or tastes, we can deliver reliably in number from Cerak At'Thul as well as distant ports."

Medja

 

[Medja]

Time was becoming an increasingly precious resource to Medja of Ragash, especially in the days following the meeting of her peers in the Ragashi palace. Since then, Annuakat, seat of Imperial might as it was, had once again become her primary place of residence...much to the Vizier's dismay. She greatly preferred the gilded sights of her canal lined home to the azure structures of Annuakat, but sacrifices had to be made in the pursuit of greatness. The throne to the Empire itself was here as well, after all.

Regardless of plans and aspirations, the work of the Vizier of Stars was never done. One such responsibility included refreshing the numbers of the Imperial Hands, a task that perhaps took the highest level of personal attention and detail among any of her duties. Finding individuals who would be unwaveringly loyal to her, even unto death, was no small feat. Bonds that strong could not be bought, only forged, and none but those Medja truly felt she could trust were worthy of their status as a Hand. This, of course, meant that there were never more than a few hundred Hands at a time, but that was acceptable in her eyes. Quality would always reign supreme over quantity in her eyes.

To the end of finding recruits, Medja frequently turned to one of her personal soft spots: the lost, the dejected, and even more so, the owned. The slave markets were ever a reminder that Amol-Kalit had not really changed all that much in the last few centuries, despite Gerra of Molthal's less-than-peaceful takeover. While the sorceress was not particularly fond of the practice, the market still served as a somewhat reliable source of recruits, even before the God-Emperor brought Annuakat and Ragash to heel. And when she failed to find suitable candidates for Hands, taking her pick of potential...companions and aids was always an enjoyable task.

So it was that the Vizier of Stars had found the time to make her way to the port market, floating above the dirt and stone road in her usual fashion, held aloft by earthen trinkets and her own prodigious magic. She was never one to fancy modesty, even when moving among commoners, slavers, and merchants as she did now. Thus, she didn't care how many heads she turned as she made her way into the Tera'terre's tent, draped in silks and emeralds as she was.

Medja's own head, however, was turned quite quickly. The gnolls standing guard outside were an intriguing sight in their own right; beastfolk weren't uncommon by any measure in Imperial lands and Annuakat was a melting pot due to its status as a trading port, but gnolls weren't terribly numerous this far east. The gnoll woman just within the trading post, however, was a specimen to behold. Adorned in such a curious and exotic fashion, far more imposing than most males of her species Medja had seen, and with eyes that seemed to glow in the shade granted by the tent, her simple presence was enough to draw the Vizier's attention.

She was predisposed, unfortunately, but Medja decided that she had to know more about her. If she was a slave, she'd make a worthwhile purchase; if she were a trader, then Medja would make sure to do business with her. Medja would bide her time, not wanting to spoil anyone's business dealings, little as she cared for the apparent Maltan representative. Then, perhaps she'd take a look at the harpy singing just a ways away...

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

"What about...disposables?" the Maltan Emissary questioned, his voice dropping to a somewhat quieter ask.

The man, Roque, exchanged a glance with the gnoll beside him who seemed to understand the intent behind the query without understanding the words. She nodded once before leveling her gaze back on the Emissary.

"Cerak At'Thul is filled to the brim with deplorables," Roque offered on a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "you are seeking ...what? Battle fodder? Subjects for research? Vessels for necroman-"

"It is not a matter of public discussion," the Emissary held up a hand to stay the man's further implications for what the Maltan Kingdom did or did not have need or use of disposables for.

"Naturally. Why don't you join us in the shade? We have a selection of deplorables out back you may inspect at your leisure. Can I get you a drink? Our Cortosi Rum is freshly acquired from the gulf. I insist..." Roque would not take no for an answer as he lead the Emissary into the relief of the tent.

Loxa lingered there for several moments longer, keen gaze surveying the crowds of the marketplace, round ears erect and attentive. Her eyes landed upon a group of lionmen, ra'kasziir in her tongue, and a man who seemed out of sorts among them in more ways than one. She held his gaze for a distant second before silently and fluidly turning to follow her customer and associate into the tent.

Under the relief of the draped material the light was not so harsh nor the heat quite so stifling. At the far, open end, large fan blades carved of wood were spun by hand-cranks operated by slaves of the fit and fighting variety. Sweat beaded on their bronzed skin, but the movement of circulated air quickly whisked a cooling breeze on through. This was enough to bring the aromatic scents of the Vizier her way - a perfume her nose was not liable to miss. Rounded ears set back in an alert but easy manner, the gnoll waited for Roque to pass the Maltan Emissary off to another attendant before indicating Medja with a calm gesture of her gaze.

Roque's eyes grew wide as he recognized her quite immediately and leaned to quietly make Loxa aware they were hosting the equivalent of Imperial Royalty. A faint nod was the only outward sign of the gnoll's interest and she followed as Roque lead the way over.

"Vizier Medja, if I am not mistaken?" Roque offered her a respectful bow while Loxa, notably, remained standing, "the Sha expresses her welcome to you in our fine merchant square. What business may we assist you with on this day, fair Vizier?"

 

[Zara]

The heavy blue robes that swirled about Zara’s supple body obscured the abtati’s form as she glode through the market stalls of increasingly exotic wares. The camel trader’s mood was bright. She had come into the city to deliver several camels to the market. After doing so, the rest of the day was hers. There was little she would enjoy more than to spend it perusing for intricate trinkets and hidden treasures.

Amongst the hustle and bustle of the markets there was an energy; an energy that differed greatly from the endless expanse of sands and sun that she called her home. Beneath her turban and mask, Zara smiled. It was a smile that even lit up the young elf’s eyes as she gingerly set an ornate hookah back on the display table, her nose catching the wafting odor of finely spiced meats being sautéed to seared perfection.

As she did, her eyes beheld an unexpected sight. There, gliding as if carried by the invisible wings of a benevolent desert spirit, was a woman who did not even deign to touch the worn streets of the marketplace. Zara’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. Who was this holy spectre that moved so freely about the masses. She appeared corporeal enough so she could not be an apparition, could she? It was not a hallucination because other heads turned at her passing as well.

And like that, Zara turned to follow; her desert-honed skills allowing her to flow as seamlessly as a shifting dune through the crowds. Her fun-filled day of stall-shopping was momentarily forgotten as curiosity got the better of her. Who was this creature? Did she hail from the deserts from where Zara too came? Was she from a far off land?

Each silent footfall carried her further and further from the market stalls and deeper into the slave markets. Slavery was something Zara was familiar with. She was fortunate enough to be a freeborn woman and a daughter of a respected abtati nomad. She moved through her desert world as free as her lot in life allowed and then some. Still, the idea of slavery made her uncomfortable. She would not be owned and it did not set well with her that others could be; despite thst this was the way of the world since ancient times.

Zara continued to follow until she almost ran headlong into a gnoll. The beast’s snarl pulled Zara back to reality as she stopped short. Instinctively she jumped back, her hands held loosely in front of her in case she needed to push away; the simple steel blade hanging loosely in her sleeve close enough to be easily brought to bare if needed.



“I am so sorry! I didn’t see you there master . . . uhhhh . . .” she stammered as she realized she did not know who, or what, this carnivorous beast was.

 

[Medja]

"It is not a matter of public discussion,"

Truly it was incredible how bold some people were. Medja had eyes and ears everywhere, but it wasn't often she got to catch wind of something quite so shady herself. She imagined the man might've tried to be a bit more discreet had he been a tad more observant; having such discussions in the proximity of the Vizier of Stars was laughably foolish.

Of course, all that in mind, the man was an emissary and it wasn't Medja's job to make anything of it, for now. With a keen glance, she made a mental note of the man as he was ushered away. The Sapphires would look into the matter when it was more convenient. At present, Medja had more pressing matters to attend to.

In the few passing moments she had to wait, she soaked in the scene around her. It wasn't often anymore that she got to experience these sorts of settings, though being on the other side was certainly not unfamiliar to her. The cool breeze generated by the servants manning the fans was appreciated, as was the view of their physiques. Far more so was the realization that she'd been recognized, and that she'd gotten the attention she'd wanted.

Medja dipped her head politely at the duo that now stood before her.
"You would be correct. How odd...usually I am the one in the business of knowing things, yet I have no knowledge of either of you." She answered Roque, curiosity tinging her tone. She glanced to the gnoll woman as she studied her briefly, taking in the impressiveness of her visage with a slight grin. "The Sha has my gratitude. I came seeking a very particular brand of person, but now I also seek information."

For slavers they were polite enough, but they hadn't bothered to introduce themselves. Her emerald gaze narrowed upon the man who apparently spoke for the 'Sha,' tone falling a bit flatter.
"Who are you?"

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

Roque's expression smugged despite himself, but the gnoll's face remained passive.

"A fair question, regal Lady," Roque replied, offering a mild bow and gesturing to a seating area off toward the side where he would lead the Vizier if she found the offer agreeable, "I am Roque, speaker for the Sha and Herald of the Terra'terre. We ply our venture upon the seas, traveling from port to port with varietal wares and exotic fare. Our Sha comes from the distant jungles of the Ixchel Wilds and commands our journey from as far as the Isles of Sheketh to the bay of Cerak At'Thul. We have not made port here often, perhaps that is the reason for unfamiliarity."

Roque snapped his fingers and a servant slave arrived, clean, healthy, dressed in fine white linens lined by green embroidery. She bowed and waited for a command.

"May I offer you refreshment?" Roque inquired, "We have most sumptuous wines from distant lands. A flavor perhaps you have not enjoyed before..."


At the entrance the gnoll on guard gave a gruff snarl of insult as the elf bumped into her but held both fang and spear. Instead a slew of foreign words cut through the heady air between them and, within but a moment's blink, another servant slave appeared.

"Good day," she bowed to Zara, "did you wish to browse our Sha's selection of fine slaves? I can assist until the Sha is free."

 

[Zara]

Zara regarded the gnoll with caution. Beneath her robes, she took a subtle step backwards placing a hair’s breath more space between her and the gruff looking creature. Her muscled thin frame tensed, unsure what to expect next, but prepared to struggle and fight if she could not turn on her heel and vanish back amongst the market stalls. Zara did not need to understand the word’s the creature before her spewed to know that he was not thrilled by her existence or accidental intrusion.

When a servant girl materialized beside the gnoll, Zara’s tensed muscle relaxed only slightly. Her offer was intriguing, if not somewhat distateful. The Beddoon clan had not owned slaves in generations; preferring the works of their own hand and fruits of their own labors drawn from the harshness of the endless sands. Still, what would it hurt to look? Even if they did not employ slaves, had they not sold off trespassers to inevitably be sold into slavery? If anything, looking helped the elven woman get closer to the mysterious woman and her mystical aura. Hesitantly, Zara nodded, lowering her arms to her side and stepping forward to follow the servant slave behind the veil that obscured their wares from the outside world.

“Can I ask a question?” Zara whispered as she fell into step with her newfound guide. “Who was that woman who came in before me?” Suddenly as they walked, her eye caught the back of the woman, Medja. She pointed subtly from the hip, “Her. Is she some sort of sorceress of desert spirit?”

Quickly Zara noted the other gnoll and Rogue with the mysterious woman and diverted her eyes back forwards, her arm swinging back by her side as if her pointing finger had just been an overswing of her natural movements. “How much does a slave cost here?” she enquired nonchalantly trying to divert attention from her prior inquiry and showing her naivety on the subject entirely.

 

[Medja]

Medja took the offer, drifting lazily through the air towards the seats Roque had gestured to. Nothing here was ideal in terms of quality, but the modicum of privacy that was offered was better than conversing among the rabble around them.

Roque's talk of exotic imports certainly caught Medja's attention, as did his mention of his leader's place of origin. This gnoll was certainly far from home, and that would explain her peculiar appearance. Even her title, 'Sha,' was not one that Medja was terribly familiar with. Still, the Vizier couldn't help but wonder whether the calmness of her expression was borne of a lack of understanding or if she was actually that confident in the face of Kaliti nobility.

"We have most sumptuous wines from distant lands. A flavor perhaps you have not enjoyed before..."

"Ah, it seems you speak not just your mistress' language, but mine as well. I'll take you up on that offer." Medja replied airily, internally eager to sample what the traders had to offer. "Truthfully I myself did not frequent this city before recent days. Now, however, I am attempting to better familiarize myself with it."

She sat down a leg across the other as she patiently waited to be served. Briefly, she caught sight of a hand being pointed in her direction but quickly dismissed the gesture. There were plenty of interesting things to be seen in this tent, herself included.

"All that said, you certainly are an odd bunch. It is a shame that your Sha does not speak our tongue for herself." The Vizier again glanced to the imposing gnoll, ever curious about this foreign wanderer and eager to see what she could coax out of her and her translator. "In my time traveling as a diplomat for the Empire I've found that things can often get lost in translation when an intermediary is involved."

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

The servant barely glanced in the direction indicated by Zara, eyes wide and quickly shifting to the ground. The stranger's question on Medja's identity went unanswered as the servant awaited a question she could attend to. One followed shortly after, "Our wares are as varied as the world, Lady. Price reflects many things - but to afford a slave is often reserved for those who own land or holdings enough to need them."

In other words, slaves were expensive and not a commodity taken home by the common person. At least, not from the Terra'terre stock.

"What is the Lady looking for?"

~~~

"Excellent," Roque replied, leaning toward the waiting servant to utter a few words in another language before returning his attention to Medja as she made herself comfortable. The man clapped his hands twice, putting into motion a train of other servants that brought silver and golden platters of food, set upon the table at the center of the area.

Loxa remained standing as she was, clawed digits lightly coiled at her back, and watched the proceedings with a keen saffron gaze, ears ever on swivel. Her calm appearance seemed to keep those within her vicinity at ease. None of the servants looked fearful of the gnoll, but certainly the respect was strong.

Roque was about to answer the Vizier's spoken concerns but the Sha gave the man the briefest glance and he held his tongue.

"This one speaks a Vizier's tongue," said the Sha, her voice a deep, gravelly resonance on the air that was common of smokers, Heralds, and those who had withstood damaged vocal chords. Her fur was thick, but a close inspection would reveal the scars along her throat that attested to the latter. For all Medja might see or assume, those scars and the lingering damage might cause her pain to speak, though it did not show.

"This one prefers to listen."

 

[Zara]

Zara hesitated for a moment as her mind churned. She was in it deep enough now. Backing out would show her ignorance and she still would not know who the mystical woman was.

“My father owns great swathes of land.” she responded as if to assure the servant of her validity. There was no need to mention that these lands were the desert sands that they wandered at whim and will. “Do you have any Abtati amongst your wares?” Zara knew that there were still elves who partook of the slave trade, even her own family sold off captives and trespassers at times. Often times, they were foreigners disrespecting the sands and people of the desert. Sometimes though, abtati captured abroad or unable to repay debts found their way into the life of indentured servitude.

With a backwards glance towards where the mysterious woman and gnoll were meeting, they continued on. Zara tried her hardest to offer up a smile that would show behind her eyes in spite of her facial covering to the servant girl. “Tell me, where do you come from?”

 

[Medja]

"This one prefers to listen."

Medja was usually the observant type, but until the Sha spoke she hadn't noticed the scarring resent on the woman's throat, visible even beneath her dense fur. Her voice was coarser than the roughest sand the desert had to offer, so much so that Medja had to fight the urge to rub her own throat just listening to the gnoll. Even more apparent was the air of command she exuded at every moment. This was an individual who had clearly earned the same level of respect that Medja herself commanded among her Hands, a bond that was only built through many years of shared experiences. Good...that meant she'd know what Medja was looking for.

"Indeed? And what, pray tell, do you choose to listen to, dear Sha? Stories, like a bard? Or perhaps songs, like a noble?" The Vizier folded one of her bronzed legs across the other and rested her chin thoughtfully upon the backs of her fingers, curiosity piqued. "Your visage tells me that 'orders' are not among the list."

The sorceress had no real point as she prodded for information, but doing so was certainly entertaining. Unravelling the mystique of this strange tent and its dwellers was a pleasant distraction from the stresses of reality that lay just outside.

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

"We have elves of many denominations and origins, yes," the servant replied to Zara with a minor bow of her head, "remnants of war and battle. The detritus of society leaks into all tributaries of the world. Come, I will show you..."

She lead the stranger out the back side of the tent, once more into the beating heat of the sun and under a secondary tent of smaller size. Here the slaves were sectioned off by curtained hangings that drifted at waist height. A section of slaves worked skillfully at embroidery, spinning wool, or upon a loom. Another section crafted wooden implements like tools and everyday items. Another presented robed slaves that stood at pedestal stands, transcribing elements of tomes and scrolls with quill, brush, ink, and paint. Toward the back a large corner had been dedicated to slaves of the warrior variety sitting on benches in light leather armors, awaiting a chance to prove their might to a would-be Master.

"I am from a place called Olriin, far to the west. It is considered by some to be the Slave Capital of all Arethil. Ah, here I think are a few Abtati," the servant gestured to two elves within the area of weavers; one spun thread while the other spooled it. They were quite young - perhaps no more than 12.

~~

Loxa regarded the Vizier quietly, a level air of keen understanding presenting within her gaze. She said nothing in response, her broad muzzle twitching with a faint hint of amusement, which may have provided an answer in itself. All things, Loxa listened to all things worth listening to. Her right ear flicked backward briefly and a few moments later the previous servant arrived with a silver pitcher of wine. She carefully poured a glass for Medja, next Roque, then placed the pitcher upon the table and stepped back.

"This variety comes from the region of the Allir Reach," Roque explained as he leaned to offer Medja her glass, "called Lamasson. The hillsides span for miles, covered in vineyards and fruit groves. It is green all year round, and warm with the golden sun over a sea of turquoise. The people are rich and fat," the man smirked, "they do not know the hardships of the desert lands - but they know how to make the most delicious wines."

Medja

 

[Zara]

Zara tried to feign interest behind her veil as best she could. Her eyes scanned the slaves with a sense of wonder in the hot light of the day.

She listened to her assigned hostess, wondering if the girl was happy where she was. The view commanded her attention enough to keep her from asking as she fell a half step behind her guide. She had not been prepared for the slavers’ market, the breath of the trade had escaped her naive existence amongst the dunes. The girl’s skin felt flush at the sight of the two Abtati, still children compared to her and yet close enough to her own age that they might have played together after evening chores. Zara bit her lip as the heat of angry passion radiated from within her heavy robes against the fiery light that beat down overhead.

‘How could this be right? What could they have done?’ Even in her life amongst the dunes, Zara knew the fate that quite possibly awaited such beauty on the slavers’ stand. It made her stomach churn.

Zara stood regarding her guide, the slaves about them, and the two Abtati girls spinning before them. She did not have the money to purchase them and there was no way her father would give up any of their prized animals in trade. It was the way of the desert, family came first, even before those who were extended relations of unknown origin. Even they came before the foreigner and outsider though. Most of these slaves, their fate, while sad, was outside her control and concern. Her fellow Abtati though, they were another matter. They were children!

Zara glanced to her escort once again, readying her mind for what she had already decided to do. The deserts were her home. The city was but an allowed trespass of their tribal lands. Here, the desert, the old gods, still reigned. Their power still flowed through the land. Even if Zara could only touch the surface of it, she was a child of the desert sands and it spurned her to action.

With a sharp intake of breath, Zara’s gloved hands began to twist simple designs in the air. A glimmer of heat shone in the air and in an instant she vanished from sight. The magics of the desert mirage drew heat from all around to fuel it’s illusion, even the air itself; obscuring the Abtati perambulator from sight.

Zara new better than to stand. Taking advantage of the moment, she began to move, her lithe body and light frame drawing her back from where she stood to a safe distance and out of the way of any that might rush headlong down the narrow walkway amongst the slaves.

 

[Medja]

The gnoll's unwillingness to participate in Medja's little game was...vexing, to say the least, but the greater meaning behind her silence was not lost on the Vizier. There was a curious dichotomy in her behavior: on one hand, the Sha's general mien was alluring; on the other, her preference for silence was rapidly draining Medja's interest. Time was a virtually limitless resource to the sorceress, yet these days it was something she had very little of to spare. She sighed softly. Patience is a virtue, Medja...

Roque's explanation and the wine the servant brought was enough to pull Medja back into the moment, for now. At the very least, sampling some delicious and exotic variety would both satisfy her desire for staying engaged and soothe her nerves. The vizier graciously accepted the glass, then supped from it, letting the flavors wash over her tongue. It was remarkably flavorful, perhaps a true tell that the drink came from a land far more lush than the arid wastes of Amol-Kalit.

The Vizier considered Roque's words as she mulled over the tastes dancing across her palette.
"Comfort is the ultimate goal of any average, sane person. To accomplish one's goals and be able to look upon one's work and relax, satisfied with the results. Can you blame those winemakers for taking an easy path to finish?"

She almost made the statement to herself more than anyone else. Medja had had the opportunity to stop her journey and spend the rest of her days relaxing in the lap of luxury at any time, yet she relentlessly pursued more with each passing day. When, she wondered to herself, would she reach her own conclusion?
Perhaps never.