Open Chronicles Shipwrecked at Cerak

[Keres]

Keres's eyes widened at the unexpected bid, her defiant glare shifting to the source of the voice. Why? The unsettling aura of the woman who had spoken chilled her blood, but she masked her fear with a smirk. "Is that all?" she muttered, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "You must be desperate, or fucking stupid." Her eyes burned with a mixture of terror and defiance. "Let’s see if you get your money's worth."

'I ASKED FOR A FUCKING SWORD! YOU STUPID CUNT! FUCK!'

Nicomo was here. Perhaps the others were too.

Her heart raced as she frantically scanned the faces of the crowd, her eyes alighting upon Roul's familiar features, pushing forward through the sea of strangers. Tears burned in her eyes, and a laugh of sheer relief bubbled from her lips, mingling with the cacophony of noise around her.

But as Roul demanded her release, Keres's joy was tinged with worry. The situation was a precarious one, and her dark eyes shifted to the woman who'd purchased her, and over the many guards and weapons that surrounded the platform. The last thing she wanted was for him to get himself killed by interfering. She was alive, and so was he, they could figure the rest out if they stayed that way.

Keres's eyes conveyed a silent message of caution. Be careful.

 

[Ubnara Debadn]

Piss poor decisions. They seemed to pockmark her life like a pick axe smacking against a rock. Her latest was urged by a desperate desire to leave the scorching, crotch-drying heat of Amol-Kalit. She joined up last minute with a group bound by ship for Alliria. But Orcs and ships didn't usually mix, and fate would remind the mongrel orcess of that fact with a cruel vengeance.

Ubnara had kept herself at arms length from the others during the journey, doing her work aboard ship as needed and trying not to puke on the deck. Her distance from them didn't change after the devastation of the storm, where she found herself washed up on the black beach beyond the sight of the shipwreck and her travel companions.

Dismay colored her sand crusted face as she moved inland. Her guess at her location was just that, a guess, but one based on enough hearsay and rumors to ring true. She figured she was among the islands of Aina O Ka La. A deep, unamused chuckle rumbled in her throat. Her luck would make the sandy soil beneath her feet Crescent Island, if her streak of misfortune was to remain unbroken.

The Orc huntress made her way up the ridge and saw the same bay that her companions, unbeknownst to her, had already viewed. A town lie in the distance. Cerak? Probably. It was an univiting sight but the only means by which one could get off the island, and most likely where Roul and the others would make for. Yes, she thought more of the others now. In such a strange and potentially dangerous place, mere acquaintances necessarily became more. The she-orc made for the city.

Weaponless, she had taken up a branch that could pose as a walkng stick and deliver a beating if necessary. Disheveled and dirty, Ubnara nonetheless seemed to disappear in the crowd. The denizens were much more interested in the obvious slave auction underway. He saw the young woman Keres on the block. T'was a shame, Ubnara kind of liked her. The creepy little darling didn't have a lot of mass, but what she lacked in physique she made up for with the fire of an angry badger. A trait the girl was displaying for all to see.

The wacky swordsman appeared, freaking out, and then Roul making a scene. The mage prisoner was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she drowned. The orc couldn't see the walking sack of dirt, or that unsettling apparation Brightmane either. With a sigh and a grunt, Ubnara pushed her way through the crowd towards Roul. her defacto friends were stirring up trouble for sure.

 

[Elide]

"Yes," Elide smiled, eager to grab the iron leash attached to her new pet. Unlike Keres, her voice was little more than a whisper from the shadows. "That may be a lot of money where you are from, but to me its little more than dirt beneath my shoes. I hope you are worth more than that, but if you are not..." Her smile fell and she looked towards the disturbance. She dropped the iron chain and allowed the slavers to grab the woman again as she stalked over to Autolycus' side.

A pale hand rested on his back upon sensing his upset. Elide nodded to the guards in agreement with the order given. "Very well," She patted him on the back before retreating. "Have that one sent to my tower. With the chains, preferably," she pointed at Keres, that horrible smile returning.

"As far as the lunatic. Kill him or toss him in the dungeon. I do not care as long as you quell this disturbance quickly."

 

[Izoldë]

A soldier obediently stepped forward to grab hold of the iron leash that bound the necromancer. He didn't utter so much as a grunt, just a sharp tug that indicated Keres should follow or would discover quite quickly what would happen if she didn't. The next lot were already being reeled onto stage, the authorities attempt to ignore the unrest brewing in the crowd.

Izoldë snarled as brilliant sunlight hit her eyes after a week in the darkness below. Pytr yanked on the iron chain when she stopped to adjust her eyes which earnt him a dark look. The past few hours had been spent getting what the Jailer called bathed, something the leopard had not taken kindly too. Yet it was Pytr who hastily backed off. Her eyes slid to the missing hole where his ear had been and smiled, teeth bloodied. She was not without her own wounds, the two legged had managed to get one good slash in with the blade, giving her a violent slash across the cheek that still bled. It was Tomas in the end who shoved her forward the rest of the way to take the spot Keres had been in only moments before.

"Next, from the slopes of The Spine, a Skinwalker..."

 

[Autolycus]

Autolycus felt something cold on his back, and that was when he realized Elide had drifted over and put a hand on him. What a delightful gesture. He would reflect on this for many days.​

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She reiterated his instructions. Likely for the best. He was still new here, so to speak, and it was better the cutthroat hounds heard it from a Warden rather than an undersecretary.​

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Autolycus returned his attention to the roiling crowd. He wrinkled his nose at Roul, expression a mixture of confusion and disgust. The sidereal elf had not the least idea who any of these so-called "people" were and no notion of a shared voyage. He had been here for weeks now.​

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The next lot was shoved forward and announced. Autolycus shot Tomas a glare. Just who was running this thing? He cleared his throat and began.​

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"Our second lot," he said pointedly, "Izoldë."​

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He pronounced it perfectly.​

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"A skinwalker, hailing from the Spine. Takes the form of a white leopard..." Autolycus skimmed the details, but was so outrageously annoyed by Tomas' interruption, he merely said what came to mind, "Violent and ill-tempered; completely murderous, having slain at least two handlers and wounded several others. Possessed of no notable skills. Reticent to command, hostile to all living things, ruled by vengeance. Unpleasant in company and conversation. Aged three-and-twenty."​

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He now glanced up at the stony crowd. "Bidding begins at two hundred gold pieces or equivalent."​

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Pure silence.​

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No bids.​

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[Nicomo]

Roul steps out in front of Nicomo. The armed men pause, but only for a moment. The drunkard slips past Roul and rests his hand on the man's shoulder. His eyes are set on all of the swords pointing at him. So many options! What a beautiful day.​

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He'd have them all.​

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"Settle down. A brilliant idea just struck me."​

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Nicomo steps out past Roul, arms spread, welcoming the nearest pirate to strike him if he dares.​

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"Get'im!" One of his comrades barks out.​

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"Wet that fucker," Another says with a bloodthirsted gleam in his eyes.​

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Steel cuts through the air, but Nico disarms the assailant and turns the blade upon its wielder in an instant. The man drops without a cry, dead before he crumples in the mud.​

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Thank you for the gift.​

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Nicomo points the bloodied sword up at Autolycus and Elide. The spitting, angry fool from just moments ago is nowhere to be found. Only a swordsman self-assured by his unparalleled talent stands beneath the platform.​

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"I bid the lives of everyone here," He announces. "We'll take her now or I'll kill you all."​