darrian_anner (darrian_anner) wrote in thedas, @ 2010-01-13 22:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! thread, & 9:45 (4) eluviesta, @ darrian anner, @ viara tremaine |
Who: Darrian Anner, Viara Tremaine
Where: A warehouse on the docks of Orlais
When: Recently
Summary: The slavers have found a prospective buyer.
Rating: PG
When the haze wore off again, Darrian found himself slumped on a crate, splinters digging into him, wrists bloody around the rope. He suppressed a growl, clenching his jaw as he fought off the last vestiges of confusion that clouded his mind. He looked around, colours and light slowly coalescing into distinguishable forms – crates, lanterns, people. Sounds slowly formed discernible words, instead of a jumble of noise.
He was in a warehouse, of sorts. Crates lined the walls, stacked on top of each other rather precariously. Most of it was in shadow, excepting his immediate area. Here, all the remaining elves stood gathered in the harsh light thrown by the lanterns, some glum, mostly lethargic. After the immediate shock had sunk in, most elves had quickly gone through the spectrum of fear, terror, and anguish before sinking into apathy. They had despaired, knowing that no one would look into their disappearance seriously. And why should they? They were a motley bunch of ragtags – a mother and child with no living relatives, a drunkard, a thief, and a whore, amongst others – they were hardly people to be sorely missed, even amongst elves. And if their disappearance was thought curious, no one was going to bother tracking them. Or saving them.
Moreover, as most of them had started thinking dully - Darrian being the exception - it was probably better to be bought. For who could tell what would happen to the elves that no one wanted?
The warehouse reeked of stale air and sweat, but it was like a breath of fresh air after being locked in a cargo hold for so long. It cleared his head and he slowly sat up straight, feeling every bruise, every welt, every muscle protest at returning to full consciousness. The dark haired elf grit his teeth, ignoring the pain. Really, he had become quite used to it.
Darrian didn’t care that every shred of resistance and protest resulted in hurt, hurt and more hurt – he simply couldn’t stand back and wait passively to see what would happen to them. He kicked, and he swore, and he struggled like a demon, and if he hadn’t represented coin, he’d most likely have been dumped overboard to sleep with the fishes right after being captured. Luckily for him, he represented a whole lot of money, so the slavers contented themselves with dealing out agony and abuse instead.
And now it seemed they had arrived at their final destination. Several elves had been sold along the way, but never had they all been made to disembark. He narrowed his eyes, now fully alert, and scanned what he could see of the warehouse.
The windows were far too high to be of any use – besides, they seemed to be rusted shut, grime lying in such thick layers that it would have obscured the light had any been attempting to filter through. It was night then – and no surprise there. The only entrance he could see was guarded by two of the slavers, the scarred one and the bald one, and they knew how to use the weapons stuck in their belts. An elf – one of the slavers – stood close to ensure no slaves snuck into the shadowy recesses of the warehouse, caressing the hilt of his falchion, and the hungry look he fixed on Darrian was clear – I know what you’re thinking and I dearly hope you will try it.
Darrian glared at him stonily. That elf – Keraer – was one of the most vicious of the slavers; tall as a human, tough as nails and even colder hearted. The slaver he’d killed back in Denerim had been his companion, and Darrian had come to regret not killing him instead, as Keraer had paid him back in blood every night since.
Of the other slavers, only one more seemed to be present, and it seemed he had found a prospective buyer, to whom he was showing off the gathered elves. Darrian narrowed his eyes, a hiss escaping through his clenched teeth. At the sound, slight though it was, the tiny girl at the edge of the line turned to look at him, her eyes pleading and full of terror. Golden curls framed a tiny face with large blue eyes, a beauty despite being no more than seven, at the most. She was by far the most striking elf in the line up, and it broke Darrian’s heart knowing that she would be sold for a few coins to spend the rest of her life as someone else’s property.