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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4790959" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>The Slave Road</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">THREE CARTS’ LOADS </span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">of slaves are sold in Tsanyang. The cages are dismantled; from here on, the Northern slaves are expected to walk in their shackles. For months they trudge through the intensifying summer swelter, dodging snakes and being devoured by insects. Ontaya does her best to discreetly heal the sores that develop on their ankles from the heavy chains, and Meeshak tries to encourage them with exhortations from his half-remembered dreams. They pass the babies back and forth among party members, with Ash and Ontaya taking more and longer turns as the children gain weight.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The terraces in the hills around them are flooded, with thousands of Xaimani women crouched to transplant small, vibrantly green plants into the brown water. As the summer passes with daily torrents of rain, this unfamiliar “rice” crop rises in the fields until they are walking through a landscape of gently undulating waves of lurid green, with the jungle rising beyond on all sides. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The slave train is constantly surrounded by murmuring crowds. Usually the curious Xaimani keep their distance, though there are a few exceptions -- notably during the Festival of Colors, which involves the Xaimani delightedly throwing lots of water and red powder at each other, leaving even the passing slaves drenched and dyed. No one throws anything at the legionnaires, of course; dishonoring a triumphal march would surely elicit severe penalties. When the wind is right, the captives can hear the Imperial Heralds at the head of the column, incessantly proclaiming the victory of the Xaimani legions over the pale Northerners.</span></p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">ONE DAY THE </span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">throng parts rapidly around an unshaven, filthy Xaimani with cuts all over his body. The pariah lurches up to Ash -- who is carrying baby T’harai -- and shrieks out words the party doesn’t understand. T’harai gives a high, terrified scream, and Ash shoves the madman, who falls spasming and babbling to the ground. The rest of the crowd gives him a wide berth, while several legionnaires knock him away with the butts of their spears.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Spirit-bound,” Korael says with fascinated distaste. “Don’t touch him if you can avoid it. The madness probably isn’t contagious, but no one knows for sure.” Ash looks down at his hands with concern.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Who was that?” Kyla demands, quickly reclaiming the wailing T’harai. “What did he say?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“The Spirit-bound are reported to be under the sway of powerful evil spirits that even a Xaimani High Priest or Jendae Elder finds nearly impossible to exorcise,” Korael explains. “They aren’t common, but I’m told one does come across them from time to time, especially in the slums of the bigger Xaimani cities. I don’t know why you don’t have them in the North. And what he said was: ‘Changeling -- a changeling.’”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">That night, having rocked the upset T’harai to sleep, Kyla is awakened by his chuckling. She opens her eyes to see tiny sparks of light swirling around the half-Arawai baby. He meets her uncomprehending stare with a laugh of joy, and dust sifts up from the ground to briefly form an image of her face.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Looking around, she sees that Darren and Korael have also woken up. The young Jendae looks appalled. “Kyla... I didn’t think such talents existed in the North.” </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Oh, Ain! Tell me this isn’t... what that Spirit-Bound had?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“No, no. This is magic. A <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4766587-post76.html" target="_blank">Radiant Path</a> talent -- I’m sure.” Korael looks around in dread to see if any soldiers are within eyeshot. “Kyla, the Xaimani will never abide this kind of power in a slave child. It’s worse than using swords. They’ll burn the babe’s mind away if they find him doing this, if they don’t just kill him outright.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">With her skin prickling uncomfortably, Kyla waves away the lights and dust and pulls T’harai close to her. “Stop, little one.” The baby begins to cry. “Hush, ssh. You mustn’t make the lights any more. We’ll keep you safe.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">From then on, the party members take watches during the night to make sure T’harai doesn’t provide any more displays that might alert the guards.</span></p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">THE JUNGLE HILLS </span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">descend to a lush plain of rice fields and rain forests. The broad, muddy tracks they have been following give way to stone-paved roads, and one village begins blending into the next with scarcely any space between them. The houses and temples grow finer, taller, and more elaborate as the slave column marches into the densely populated heart of Xaiman. All around them, the party members see technologies (in bridge-building, roads, irrigation, and crafts from porcelain to paper-making) and cultural practices far more elaborate than anything they had known in the North. They pass through cities far larger than Tsanyang, and unremarkable towns that are easily the size of any city they have seen in the North. For the first time, even the Lynar-born Senallines feel like barbarians.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Late in the Xaimani month of the Burning Lotus (early autumn), they find themselves sharing the broad stone highway with another legion coming from the northeast, leading two strings of fifty slaves each. These captives have deep brown skin, narrow eyes, and dark hair turned golden by long exposure to the sun. They are being forced to keep up a slightly faster pace than the Northerners. One of them, a muscular young man with blacker hair than his compatriots and an incongruously jaunty grin, gives a discreet salute as he passes the Northern slaves. “Hail, strangers. The heralds keep calling you the Pale Folk. Surely Pink Folk would be more appropriate?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“When we have to walk in the sun for months,” Ash replies ruefully. “What do they call you?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Lakshari scum,” the youth says with pride. “Three and a half centuries since the Xaimani managed to bring Lakshadar into the Empire, but we can still manage a rebellion now and then. Sadly, they all tend to end like this.” He gestures at the slave column. “These were desert tribesmen from the north country. We had a few good hits at the legions before the damned Radiant Path began destroying all the springs in the north and forced a surrender.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“And you’re also from the desert?” Kyla asks.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“No, my Arawai rose. I’m a city boy who got lost and found myself in the wrong place at a very wrong time.” He grins at her. “My name’s Chandur, by the way.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“You seem pretty cheery for a slave,” Meeshak comments dourly.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Does it make sense to cry over it?” Chandur shrugs. His eyes brighten as he draws abreast of Carwyn. “True, the shackles make it more difficult for me to win ladies’ hearts with my dancing. You’ll have to take my word that I can strut and spin as beautifully as any man from here to Orokin.” Carwyn smiles in spite of herself. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Did you not have any Radiant Path talents on your side of the rebellion?” Ontaya asks in a low voice.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Chandur looks over to her, his grin taking on a harder edge. “No. The Empire does its best to keep control over the mages. The Kardei insurgency sixty years ago taught them that. After all it cost them to pacify the Kardei, they’ve tried to make sure all talents are registered and watched. What about your little war up North?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“No mages,” Lucian answers curtly. “We don’t have them in the North. Nor slaves.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Is that so?” the young Lakshari says, eyes gleaming. “Gods, no wonder you lost. No Radiant Path, lots of beautiful women -- it’s a miracle you weren’t overrun centuries ago.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Atrix chuckles. “And here I was starting to think that no one in the South had a sense of humor.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“No, that’s just the Xaimani. The other nations of the Empire haven’t acquired the permanent indigestion that’s the true mark of civilization.” Chandur drops his voice to a whisper as the guards driving his column approach. “Keep your spirits up, Pink Folk. If the Divinities are kind, in a few weeks we’ll see each other in Tziwan.” He winks at Carwyn. Lune bristles.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4790959, member: 61094"] [b]The Slave Road[/b] [B][FONT=Verdana]THREE CARTS’ LOADS [/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana]of slaves are sold in Tsanyang. The cages are dismantled; from here on, the Northern slaves are expected to walk in their shackles. For months they trudge through the intensifying summer swelter, dodging snakes and being devoured by insects. Ontaya does her best to discreetly heal the sores that develop on their ankles from the heavy chains, and Meeshak tries to encourage them with exhortations from his half-remembered dreams. They pass the babies back and forth among party members, with Ash and Ontaya taking more and longer turns as the children gain weight.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The terraces in the hills around them are flooded, with thousands of Xaimani women crouched to transplant small, vibrantly green plants into the brown water. As the summer passes with daily torrents of rain, this unfamiliar “rice” crop rises in the fields until they are walking through a landscape of gently undulating waves of lurid green, with the jungle rising beyond on all sides. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The slave train is constantly surrounded by murmuring crowds. Usually the curious Xaimani keep their distance, though there are a few exceptions -- notably during the Festival of Colors, which involves the Xaimani delightedly throwing lots of water and red powder at each other, leaving even the passing slaves drenched and dyed. No one throws anything at the legionnaires, of course; dishonoring a triumphal march would surely elicit severe penalties. When the wind is right, the captives can hear the Imperial Heralds at the head of the column, incessantly proclaiming the victory of the Xaimani legions over the pale Northerners.[/FONT] [B][FONT=Verdana]ONE DAY THE [/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana]throng parts rapidly around an unshaven, filthy Xaimani with cuts all over his body. The pariah lurches up to Ash -- who is carrying baby T’harai -- and shrieks out words the party doesn’t understand. T’harai gives a high, terrified scream, and Ash shoves the madman, who falls spasming and babbling to the ground. The rest of the crowd gives him a wide berth, while several legionnaires knock him away with the butts of their spears.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Spirit-bound,” Korael says with fascinated distaste. “Don’t touch him if you can avoid it. The madness probably isn’t contagious, but no one knows for sure.” Ash looks down at his hands with concern.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Who was that?” Kyla demands, quickly reclaiming the wailing T’harai. “What did he say?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“The Spirit-bound are reported to be under the sway of powerful evil spirits that even a Xaimani High Priest or Jendae Elder finds nearly impossible to exorcise,” Korael explains. “They aren’t common, but I’m told one does come across them from time to time, especially in the slums of the bigger Xaimani cities. I don’t know why you don’t have them in the North. And what he said was: ‘Changeling -- a changeling.’”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]That night, having rocked the upset T’harai to sleep, Kyla is awakened by his chuckling. She opens her eyes to see tiny sparks of light swirling around the half-Arawai baby. He meets her uncomprehending stare with a laugh of joy, and dust sifts up from the ground to briefly form an image of her face.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Looking around, she sees that Darren and Korael have also woken up. The young Jendae looks appalled. “Kyla... I didn’t think such talents existed in the North.” [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Oh, Ain! Tell me this isn’t... what that Spirit-Bound had?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“No, no. This is magic. A [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4766587-post76.html"]Radiant Path[/URL] talent -- I’m sure.” Korael looks around in dread to see if any soldiers are within eyeshot. “Kyla, the Xaimani will never abide this kind of power in a slave child. It’s worse than using swords. They’ll burn the babe’s mind away if they find him doing this, if they don’t just kill him outright.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]With her skin prickling uncomfortably, Kyla waves away the lights and dust and pulls T’harai close to her. “Stop, little one.” The baby begins to cry. “Hush, ssh. You mustn’t make the lights any more. We’ll keep you safe.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]From then on, the party members take watches during the night to make sure T’harai doesn’t provide any more displays that might alert the guards.[/FONT] [B][FONT=Verdana]THE JUNGLE HILLS [/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana]descend to a lush plain of rice fields and rain forests. The broad, muddy tracks they have been following give way to stone-paved roads, and one village begins blending into the next with scarcely any space between them. The houses and temples grow finer, taller, and more elaborate as the slave column marches into the densely populated heart of Xaiman. All around them, the party members see technologies (in bridge-building, roads, irrigation, and crafts from porcelain to paper-making) and cultural practices far more elaborate than anything they had known in the North. They pass through cities far larger than Tsanyang, and unremarkable towns that are easily the size of any city they have seen in the North. For the first time, even the Lynar-born Senallines feel like barbarians.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Late in the Xaimani month of the Burning Lotus (early autumn), they find themselves sharing the broad stone highway with another legion coming from the northeast, leading two strings of fifty slaves each. These captives have deep brown skin, narrow eyes, and dark hair turned golden by long exposure to the sun. They are being forced to keep up a slightly faster pace than the Northerners. One of them, a muscular young man with blacker hair than his compatriots and an incongruously jaunty grin, gives a discreet salute as he passes the Northern slaves. “Hail, strangers. The heralds keep calling you the Pale Folk. Surely Pink Folk would be more appropriate?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“When we have to walk in the sun for months,” Ash replies ruefully. “What do they call you?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Lakshari scum,” the youth says with pride. “Three and a half centuries since the Xaimani managed to bring Lakshadar into the Empire, but we can still manage a rebellion now and then. Sadly, they all tend to end like this.” He gestures at the slave column. “These were desert tribesmen from the north country. We had a few good hits at the legions before the damned Radiant Path began destroying all the springs in the north and forced a surrender.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“And you’re also from the desert?” Kyla asks.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“No, my Arawai rose. I’m a city boy who got lost and found myself in the wrong place at a very wrong time.” He grins at her. “My name’s Chandur, by the way.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“You seem pretty cheery for a slave,” Meeshak comments dourly.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Does it make sense to cry over it?” Chandur shrugs. His eyes brighten as he draws abreast of Carwyn. “True, the shackles make it more difficult for me to win ladies’ hearts with my dancing. You’ll have to take my word that I can strut and spin as beautifully as any man from here to Orokin.” Carwyn smiles in spite of herself. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Did you not have any Radiant Path talents on your side of the rebellion?” Ontaya asks in a low voice.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Chandur looks over to her, his grin taking on a harder edge. “No. The Empire does its best to keep control over the mages. The Kardei insurgency sixty years ago taught them that. After all it cost them to pacify the Kardei, they’ve tried to make sure all talents are registered and watched. What about your little war up North?”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“No mages,” Lucian answers curtly. “We don’t have them in the North. Nor slaves.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Is that so?” the young Lakshari says, eyes gleaming. “Gods, no wonder you lost. No Radiant Path, lots of beautiful women -- it’s a miracle you weren’t overrun centuries ago.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Atrix chuckles. “And here I was starting to think that no one in the South had a sense of humor.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“No, that’s just the Xaimani. The other nations of the Empire haven’t acquired the permanent indigestion that’s the true mark of civilization.” Chandur drops his voice to a whisper as the guards driving his column approach. “Keep your spirits up, Pink Folk. If the Divinities are kind, in a few weeks we’ll see each other in Tziwan.” He winks at Carwyn. Lune bristles.[/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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