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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Herremann the Wise" data-source="post: 2124596" data-attributes="member: 11300">The Dockside Slave PitDeep within a slave pit in an unnamed and unknown  port… The stench of the slave pit had worsened steadily over the past three days. The rains of the night had turned the already faeces-ridden floor of the pit to mud and slush. Normally these deep trenches could hold up to ten or twelve slaves. At present more than twenty were herded into the ridiculous pit. Usually they were used for slaves in transit, as a brief holding pen between one ship and another; one owner and the next.The slaves in this pit however were pawns in the middle of some outside political scandal and so waited for whatever outcome was their fate. As a commodity, slaves were perhaps the greatest symbol of wealth for those humans that still cherished what freedom was fed to them. This current batch of slaves was for a payment of debt. Unfortunately, the collector of the debt had met with a foul end and so they were being underhandedly sold elsewhere in the hope of escaping official attention and notice.The fact that the slaves had been in the fifteen foot deep trench for so long meant that pit-fever was rife amongst them. Two were as good as dead and so fear like the horrid stench of the pit bred rampantly. No one wanted to deal with the dead returning to life. The last time food had been dropped into the pen was two days before the rains of the night. Only those of strength had been able to garner any food, the rest having to wait.Methuselas had been one of the luckier ones. He had been in the right position of the pit to catch a chunk of some fetid vegetable as well as a bone with several small ligaments still attached. The disgusting meal would have been as sweet as anything he had tasted. This is why he gave it away to a young Dorn who he had been looking after as well as another young lad from somewhere Methuselas did not know. Stronger, tougher and harder than these newer slaves, he knew they would not fair well. He instinctively knew then that something had gone wrong with their sale. The pit was poorly guarded, four at best going on the voices from above. As such, he had sought to keep the lads alive. One needed friends in a place like this. There were already enough enemies.While asleep during the night, Methuselas had been held down by two of Nunga’s brutes as Nunga himself – as rotten a slave as any Methuselas had seen – had stolen the bone from the other Dorn. A black eye, a dislocated finger and some very sore ribs later, Methuselas was sorely in need of help himself. Luckily for him, the other kid had some skill with such things and with a howl of pain that drew a guard’s attention, his finger was broken but back in its socket.“What’s going on down there? I’ll have your balls down your throat if there’s any trouble.”The shining of light illuminated the pit and numerous starved and defeated eyes looked up. With no more noise from the slaves, the orc mercenary guard withdrew, the mercy of light retreating away; leaving them once more in darkness.“Thanks laddie. If I hadna been asleep, I wouldda stopped the bastards. And you Fergal… what did he take?”“He got me bone... and me pride.”Methuselas looked at the outline of the young Dorn; he could make out a slickness running down his jaw.“You OK or no. I can sees ya bleeding.?”“It’s nothing Meth, justa coupla teeth.”Methuselas did his best to help but his ribs ached like fire. Nunga was thirty foot opposite on the high side of the pit with his two cronies. The other slaves gave the brutes wide berth. They were packed in next to Methuselas, Fergal and Verris, providing some cherished warmth at the very least.***And so it was until later the following evening…The sound of crossbow fire was heard above the pit as well as several grunts of pain. The yelling in Orcish followed by a curdling howl of death was followed by the shadowed descent of a body into the pit. With a slap into the mud and faeces the guard’s body laid still. Methuselas in a heartbeat had launched over to the body looking for a weapon. Any sword had obviously been dropped above. Damn thought Methuselas. A knife or anything would be good.His disappointment was interrupted by a fluttering of movement beneath him. Like a viper though, Methuselas had firmly planted his knee into the orc’s back; the chains binding his wrists wrapped around the orc’s neck. The almost dead orc grunted: the life that was left to him sucked out by a wrenching twist from Methuselas.“You won’t be takin my balls ya stinking bastard”, he whispered into the orc’s ear.The other slaves looked on, Nunga moving towards the centre of the pit looking up to see what was happening. A voice from above was heard.“Get them out now!!!”It was a male voice but it sounded human. Several ropes were thrown down.“Your lives just got a little bit easier. You’re now the possession of Lady Krueg. Anyone cause trouble and you’ll be back in the pit.”A number of slaves crawled up the ropes but most lacked the strength. Methuselas helped where he could, taking out an older man who would never have made it up by himself. Fergal and Verris helped him as best as they could. At the top, they could see that their guards had been harshly dealt with – several crossbow bolts had been firmly implanted into skulls and necks slashed. Other Orcs were standing around obviously owned by… someone. It was then that Methuselas saw the legate who had spoken the earlier words. In the darkness though, the milling slaves were herded together near the edge of the pit while the legate and another quietly spoke.It was then that Methuselas noticed that Nunga was near him looking at him and then the edge of the pit. The guards did not seem to notice Nunga’s advance towards Methuselas. However, they also did not notice the upper cut from Methuselas directly into the jaw of Nunga. The speed had even caught Nunga by surprise. A left to the stomach followed by a massive right thrust also to the guts had the slaves pulling away.“What’s going on here! Ryechet come with me”.The legate as well as a massive orc stepped through the parting slaves, advancing to where Nunga crouched, spewing up whatever meagre food was left in his guts. Methuselas as quick as you please stood over him trying to hold him up as he tried to bluff the legate. Methuselas’s plaintive voice pleaded,“He’s sick sir but he’ll be OK. Don’t leave him behind here. He needs help with the pit-fever, he needs help otherwise he’ll die.”Nunga’s two mates tried to advance but were stopped by another guard who had advanced to see what all the fuss was about. Nunga coughed but a quick hidden jab disguised as a helping hand from Methuselas stopped him from adding anything.The legate looked on, as hard eyes greeted Methuselas’s words. He looked back at the person he was addressing earlier. A female voice sounded.“The sick are no good to me. Clean the rest up and leave them behind.”With this and a nod from the legate, the brutish orc grabbed Nunga from Methuselas’s grip and threw him back into the pit. A sickening slap assailed their ears. For the other orcs and the legate, business was business. The legate walked back to where the lady stood. He was about to say something but was interrupted by her.“When word of this reaches Jermannis, he’ll know not to try this kind of s*** again. I trust I have your support in this?”The legate looked uncomfortable but nodded.“Get them ready." yelled the legate."They leave on the morning tide”***And so begins the adventure for Methuselas on the morrow. Having been sold once more, his life begins again, sailing to an unknown destination to be sold to another unknown master.Best RegardsHerremann the Wise</blockquote>

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