@DragonSong Adiran's stomach growled as he reached through the bars and accepted the bowl of slop. He pulled the small bowl - more a cup - between the bars, sniffed it, then grimaced as the caged wagon began to roll again. The sludgy grey slop was made from overcooked taller grain, and this batch was flecked with crusted bits of yesterday's meal.
Revolting though it was, it was all he would get. He began to eat, legs hanging out between the bars, watching the scenery pass. The other slaves in his cage clutched their bowls protectively, afraid that someone might steal from them. One of them tried to steal Adiran's food on the first day. He'd nearly broken the man's arm. Now everyone left him alone.
Suited him just fine.
He ate with his fingers, careless of the dirt. He'd stopped noticing dirt months ago. He hated hat he felt some of that same paranoia that the others showed. How could he not, after eight months of beatings, deprivation, and brutality?
He fought down the paranoia. He
wouldn't become like hem. Even if he'd given up everything else - even if all had been taken from him, even if there was no longer hope of escape. This one thing he would retain. He was a slave. But He didn't have to think like one.
He finished the slop quickly. Nearby, one of the other slaves began to cough weakly. There were ten slaves in the wagon, all men, scraggly-bearded and dirty. It was one of three wagons in their caravan through the Terrin Mountains.
"Hey," A voice whispered.
Adiran looked to the side. A slave with dark skin and matted hair was crawling up to him, timid, as if expecting Adiran to be angry. "You're not like the others." The slave's black eyes glanced upward, towards Adiran's forehead, which bore two brands. The first was a normal slave brand, given to him eight months ago, on his last day in Kildarin's army. The second was fresh, given to him by his most recent master. Dangerous.
"I heard the guards talking," The slave continued, shuffling a little closer. He had a twitch that made him blink oo frequently, "You've tried to escape before, they said. You
have escaped before."
Adiran made no reply.
"Look," The slave said, moving his hand out from behind his rags to reveal his bowl of slop. It was half full. "Take me with you next time," he whispered. "I'll give you this. Half my food from now until we get away. Please."
Adiran turned away, looking out at the endless hills and their shifting, moving grasses. He rested on arm across the bars and placed his head against it, legs still hanging out.
"Well?" The slave asked.
"You're an idiot. If you gave me half your food, you'd be too weak to escape if I were to flee. Which I won't. It doesn't work."
"But-"
"Ten times," Adiran whispered, "Ten escape attempts in eight months, fleeing from five different masters. And how many of them worked? You can't hide as a slave, not with that brand on your forehead. Oh, I got away a few times. But they always found me. And then back I went."
The slave eventually realized Adiran wasn't going to say anything further, and so he retreated, eating his slop. The wagons continued to roll, fields of green extending in all directions. Soon, they would reach their final destination, he had overhead the guards talking among themselves the night before. Ketra. Where they would all be sold to the highest Adelan bidder.
The wagon rolled on.
A growl echoed low in her throat as Azalea lowered her head, shoulders hunched and teeth bared while she followed her Commander through the narrower streets of Ketra's market district.
"I still don't know why I'm here. Sir," she rumbled quietly. Her voice was feminine, but still unmistakably draconic, hissing and crackling at the edges of her tone like a barely contained flame.
"You don't need to know," Her commanding officer threw back over his shoulder. "Your duty was to accompany me here and back to the barracks. Or is that asking too much of you?"
She snorted and raised her head slightly, resisting the urge to freeze his feet in place with a breath. She knew she was being insubordinate, but she couldn't seem to help herself- it amazed her how many dragons willingly joined the military, as she had: they were prideful creatures by nature, and even her human half couldn't temper that too much.
She hated the smell of this place. Dirt and fear and desperation. The slave markets.
The city was alive with motion, the streets lined with colourful stalls and market venues. The Adelan people moved aside like waves to let the caravan through, moving back into place the moment the last wagon had passed. Barely moved from his position by the bars, Adiran watched the everyday life of the city silently, one hand wrapped around the nearest bar, the other resting on his lap.
It didn't take long to leave the normal market, the clean, fresh streets that smelled of the many exotic flavours the vendors had to offer. The stench of blood, sweat and dirt filled the air the further they traveled. The distinct smell of a slave market.
The slavers lined them up in rows side by side. Each wagon's occupants made up a line, the biggest placed at the front. Andarin was near to the back, the heavy chain that ran down their line pulling on his hands, thick metal cuffs wearing on chaffed skin. There were only a few men behind him, all bow backed and silent.
He refused to let himself slump, the constant weariness that hung over him threatening to crush him at any moment. But he kept his back straight and proud, defiance no doubt plastered across pale, grimy skin. It came nearly as natural as breathing, the strict military stance, even after all this time. No doubt it would make him stand out from those stood around him, but that hardly matter. The brand upon his forehead was already a sure guarantee that whomever paid the highest price when his turn came, it would be a master just like the five before him.
A flash of white and scales caught his eye to the left, the sun glinting off rippling muscle and clean white flesh. Turning his aching neck towards the creature of light, he watched as a pair, one human, one dragon, strode into the square with a determined sense of purpose. Immediately, dislike bloomed in his chest for the man, his visage one of a cruel, heartless bastard. Adiran knew men like him, had seen first hand what came of their actions. The dragon, however, she was interesting. A magnificent beast, one of pure power and beauty.
With a snort, he shook his head and turned his gaze away from the pair, refocusing on the distant spire of what he could only assume was a church, or perhaps the home of the ruler of Adelan. It mattered little what he thought of the pair, as he had told the man standing a few places in front of him that morning, his fate was already determined by the brands upon his forehead.
Azalea had to fight the urge to retch as the scent of terrified, unwashed, sometimes bloody human washed over her.
Why did he even need a slave? The older officers often used trainees to run errands, clean their quarters, serve at official dinners, all the tasks a slave would normally understand. So why did Commander Varryas need a slave?
But she knew better than to ask at this point, letting her head lower with a small sigh as she pulled her wings in tight to her body, her tail wrapping froward around her rips as though she was trying to make herself smaller, to lessen the area of her body that could be tainted by this place.
Slavery was dying out in the military, but not nearly fast enough for her tastes.
Adiran kept his gaze stolidly ahead, even as he caught the sound of Tevlak's voice. The master of this particular slave caravan, the man was most easily described as a weasel. Then again, any man to run a slave caravan with such gusto had something wrong in some compartment of their mind. The man's slightly high, slightly nasal, and slightly vexing voice carried across the courtyard as he, no doubt, greeted the pair Adiran had seen, all flattery and composure as he led them over to the first line, furtherest away on Adiran's right.
Without his bidding, Adiran found his gaze straying from the distant spire, silver gaze finding pure ivory scales once more. The dragon was even more magnificent up close, if thirty meters away could be called that. Large, rippling muscles, sharp talons, intelligent eye. It was a creature of pure power. Once, he had dreamed of seeing creatures such as this, the tremendous beauty of the Adelan Dragons, their strength unmatched, their minds unmatched, their prowess truly unparalleled.
He had dreamed a lot of things, once. To see even one of those dreams up close and personal was something he had given up hope for a long time ago.
The man who seemed to be running the caravan started what must have been his sales pitch, and Azalea tuned him out. She knew she should have been paying attention, that this whole outing was probably some sort of test she would be grilled on when they returned to the barracks, but she couldn't make herself give him her attention. It felt like a validation, and that she would deny him.
Adiran watched the dragon quietly, shuffling from foot to foot to try and retain at least a little feeling in his bared feet. It appeared as though the creature had little interest in what her human companion was here for, in that, at least, he felt a small amount of satisfaction. Then again, whatever would a dragon need a human slave for? Lunch?
At that thought, a wry snort broke from him, his eyes shifting down to the dirt underneath his feet quickly so as to remove himself from suspicion. From past experience, Tevlak wasn't a fan of humour amongst his slaves.
Even that small sound caught her attention in this place. It wasn't something one expected to hear in these conditions.
Azalea's head snapped around and fixed on the slave, eyes narrowing and pupils dilating just a bit as she found the source of the tiny noise.
He felt the gaze upon him the moment it landed, a tickle at the back of his neck that spread down his spine. Honed skills he had believed forgotten leapt into play at once, his spine straightening as his posture snapped upright, standing at what could only be called military attention, though his gaze remained downed.
Azalea frowned, huffing. She didn't know much about this sort of thing, but that seemed...not very slavish for a slave.
She snorted and shook her head, pulling her eyes away from the stranger in an attempt to refocus on what was happening in front of her.
"...and, ah-" The man who seemed to be in charge of sales kept glancing up at her, and she realized he'd been doing that the whole time. Another realization struck her and she had to swallow a growl.
Of course. This had nothing to do with her training. Her CO had brought her along just to look intimidating while he "shopped", probably an attempt to haggle down price.
Asshole.
Adiran kept his gaze trained in the dirt, refusing to let it wander anymore. He already had a reputation amongst this caravan for the mark on his forehead and the stories of his escapes, it would be best if he just kept a low profile. Somethin he had learned long ago.
It wasn't long before he caught the sound of footsteps, the heavy gait of Tevlak- he had always had a bad limp, the slightly softer gait of the other human, and the surprisingly light beat of the dragon's...feet? Paws? He really didn't know. Smothering another snort at that - he was in fine form today - he dared a short glance upwards, catching sight of the trio now standing at the head of his line.
"-as you can see, I'm not just spouting words of nonsense here, sir. Each of these men will serve for years to come!" Tevlak was still throwing his sales pitch, apparently. Bastard. As if to spite him, the man Adiran had conversed with just that morning coughed loudly, wobbling in his place in the lineup.
Varryas arched a wry eyebrow and Azalea couldn't stop the growl that rumbled in her chest as she made a concerted effort not to look at the line.
It was selfish, and she knew it. Looking away from the misery didn't change the fact that it was there, but she couldn't bear it.
What am I doing here? She'd come to Ketra to protect Adela, to guard the people who called her land home.
It was days like this when she wondered if it was worth it.
Tevlak cleared his throat loudly, a sign he was particularly nervous about this sale, Adiran knew. Come to think of it, it had been some time since the number of slaves in their merry little caravan dwindled. Perhaps sales were not going too well for the Connloathian.
"Please, sir. Take a look at these men. I swear you will not be disappointed." Adiran looked up, catching Tevlak's gaze. The man even looked like a weasel. Sharply pointed nose, black, beady eyes. Something in his face was just...wrong. Profitable as it was, this life still took a toll, it would seem.
The man coughed again, wobbling back into the heavy set man behind him. He was shoved back into his place with a rough jerk that shuffled the whole line, the chain attached their each set of manacles pulling with the man's weight. Adiran's gaze shifted to him, then, peering around the man between them. His eyes narrowed, calculating.
Varryas seemed to be debating something, turning to address the slaver, and Az dropped her head slightly with a sharp breath exhaled through her nose.
Gods, she hated this.
His hypothesis confirmed when the man continued to sway on his feet, Adiran lifted his head, gaze tracking to Tevlak and his buyer. Clearing his throat overly loud, he set his features in a blank mask, something he had perfected before ever becoming a slave. "Tevlak. This man is ill. I would suggest you let him loose before the rest of us contract it too." His voice was emotionless, not too loud, not too quiet.
Possibly enough to crumple this entire deal.
Varryas snorted. "What use would I have for a sick slave?" He snapped at the slaver. "Treat your cargo better, and you may actually manage to unload some of them."
Azalea had to resist the urge to bite him.
It was with a great deal of satisfaction that Adiran watched the man fumble, his hand lifting to run through greasy black hair as he stumbled for words. "Just, just one slave can be expected, sir! After all, not all of them are in top condition when I acquire them." He glanced to the side, his gaze fixing on Adiran, hatred bursting forth as it always did.
"Here, sir. Take a look at this one. He is in fine shape, and you won't find a sharper mind."
Vindictive bastard.
Azalea snorted again as Varryas moved, apparently reluctantly, forward. She kept her eyes fixed out above the rooftops of the markets, doing her best to pretend she was anywhere else.
Adiran stiffened, steel eyes flashing as he gave the man what could only be described as an appraising look. It was true what Tevlak said, out of his line, he was the fittest, despite his paper white complexion. His collection of scars would pay testament to his hardiness. But besides that, there was something in his eyes. Not the harsh fire of survival that burned at the forefront of his gaze, but something quieter, sharper, that lingered in the depths of silver hues. He met the man's eyes squarely, not quite defiance burning in his own gaze.
"Best of the lot, this one," Tevlak oozed, "I'll make it a special price for you, sir. As my first sale of this city."
"How special?" came the blunt reply. Azalea hissed quietly, her hackles slightly raised as she glared at the slaver.
Tevlak thought about it for a moment, the gears in his head almost visibly grinding. Adiran watched him silently, his expression neutral, though his eyes flamed. Eventually, the black haired Connloathian wetted his lips and delivered the price, "Ten silver."
Azalea snarled, but her commander's raised hand cut thr sound off. "You want to be rid of him that badly?" Varryas chuckled, lip curled.
The dragon hissed quietly, disgusted. Ten silvers for a human life? The man was lucky she didn't take his head off.
Tevlak winced, shaking his head quickly. "No, no sir. Nothing like that. I merely wish to start my trading in this city on a good word!" He hurriedly replied. Adiran watched the whole exchange silently, silver hues judging both men with little restraint.
Her commander snorted again, then quirked another eyebrow. "Very well. I assume you have the proper documentation?"
Tevlak visibly deflated, a look not quite relief washing over his face as he lifted an arm to gesture towards his tent, on the other side of the square, "Please, sir. Right this way."
Adiran let out a long breath through his nose, closing his eyes as he rocked back on his heels. Another trade. Another master, most likely another introductory beating.
Varryas moved to follow the slaver. "Don't move, private," he instructed Azalea bluntly as he walked away.
The dragon gave a curt nod, then curled her lip at his back. "Jackass," she hissed quietly once she was sure he was out of earshot.
Adiran let an amused chuff break free of his lips when he heard the quiet hoss of the mighty dragon, silver hues now taking in every detail about her up close and personal. Resisting the urge to fold him arms over his chest if only because his hands were still shsckled, he leaned his weight on one foot and peered up at the dragon. It took a few moments, but when he spoke his tone was calm, collected, "Which one?"
She glanced at him, a little startled that he'd spoken.
"The commander," she said eventually. Her lip curled. "I could use stronger language for the slaver."
Adiran snorted bemusedly, glancing after the two men shortly before focusing on the dragon. "If you dislike him so much, why do you still serve him?" He questioned, an untimely wisdom in his tired eyes.
Azalea shook her head. "I don't. I serve my country." She sighed and muttered, "He outranks me, for the moment. But I don't serve him."
Adiran hummed at that, looking like he wanted to say more, but instead shaking his head and dropping his gaze back to the dirt. Soon after, Tevlak emerged from his tent, looking almost giddy with the delight of having gotten this slave off his hands at long last. He didn't know if the commander was blind, stupid, or just didn't care about the brands the troublesome slave bore, so long as he took him and didn't come back.
"Lower your eyes," Azalea murmured as her commander approached. "Try not to speak, if you can help it."
She closed her eyes a moment. "I'm so sorry..."
Adiran followed her instructions by habit, his eyes staying fixed on the dirt as Tevlak stopped at his side. The keys at his belt jingled loudly as he unclipped them, bending down to unlock the manacles at his ankles before straightening. He paused upon reaching the clips for rh wrist chains, a look of indecision flashing over his face before he jerked and quickly released Adiran from the chain. Pulling the man forwards by his shoulder, he set him before the commander. "Here's your man, commander."
Varryas curled his lip. "We'll see," he muttered, looking the slave up and down. Without looking at her, he snapped, "Private, keep an eye on him on the way back to the barracks."
Adiran sent the commander a burning glare once his back was turned, eyes filled with molten metal. There was nothing he could do to get out of this position, he knew that, ten times had showed him that, but bastards like this made him sick. Huffing a breath, he glanced at the dragon shortly before beginning to follow after the man.
Azalea couldn't do much besides trail along with the two humans, head lowered slightly as they followed the crowded streets back to the barracks.
At least her presence afforded some amount of intimidation- they weren't too badly crowded, everyone made sure to give the dragon some room.
Adiran kept a few paces behind the Commander, rolling his wrists absently as he looked around the streets. It was only a small measure, but there was freedom in the loss of the manacles. A breath of fresh air in a stale life. It was far from the freedom he had had all those months ago, but it was enough. Casting his glance over his shoulder, he watched the dragon for a few moments, taking her in at such a close proximity. It was clear she wasn't happy, how anyone could be in a place like this, he didn't know, but even so she was a magnificent creature.
Soon enough, the walls of the barracks came into view.
"Azalea."
The dragon snapped her head up. "Sir?"
"Report to the training field, and drop him off at the guardhouse on your way. Make sure they know he's authorized to be here," Varryas instructed.
Azalea dipped her head slightly. "Yessir." She sighed and glanced at the slave, then turned with a jerk of her head, a "follow me" gesture.
Adiran watched the commander leave in the opposite direction for a few moments before shaking his head with a soft sigh and turning to follow in the dragon's footsteps. He let his gaze wonder around the barracks for a few minutes, the act keeping him quiet, before he eventually turned his gaze to Azalea, "So," he began, hooking his fingers through the rough cord of rope that served as a belt, "If you dislike Varryas so much, why do you still serve him?" He chuffed a breath, "I don't imagine it would be too hard for a dragon to leave, get reassigned, or whatever."
Azalea jerked her head around, a little startled. The few slaves she'd meant weren't usually so open with their curiosity, or their speech.
"I can't, actually," she sighed. "I...don't have a rider. I've had a few partners through my training, but none of them have...worked out. So technically, I'm not a full soldier. I can't request reassignment," she murmured.
Adiran hummed softly at that, a mix between consideration and understanding. He didn't know a lot about Adela, but the little he did know was enough to at least 'keep him afloat', metaphorically speaking. "So if you had a rider, you could leave. But because you don't, you can't." He summarised, more for himself than for her.
"Put simply? Yes."
Technically, she could leave anytime she wanted. But just because Varryas was an ass didn't mean she didn't want to serve her country as a soldier, and if she just left now, after all the training she'd done, well...
It was worth putting up with her CO for another few months.
Adiran just nodded that time, wrapping his arms around his midsection almost absently. They had arrived at a small, but moderately sized building made of the usual Adelan materials now, the door flung open and the chatter emanating from within streaming out. Wrinkling his nose at the dark, slightly cramped interior that could be seen through the door, Adiran simply sighed.
Azalea bit down on another sigh and lowered her head. "I can't fit," she rumbled. "You have to go in and tell them Varryas...bought you."
Adiran stood for a few moments, gaze drifting around the large, spacious area, before he blew out a breath and nodded. Ducking around the dragon, he headed for the door, hesitating on the step into the guardhouse. Clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly to catch the attention of the rough and rowdy men inside. It worked a little too well, as a majority of gazes turned his way. He stiffed, instinctively, stance going ramrod straight.
"Well who's this plod then."
The dragon waited outside, shifting her weight a little anxiously as she lowered her head in an attempt to see what was going on. She could hear most of it, but she couldn't really see.
Adiran clicked his jaw at that, a dozen words he couldn't rightly say forming in the back of his throat. Biting his tongue for the moment, he lifted silver gaze to the man who had spoken, a dark look burning in platinum hues. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he got the chance, one of the younger looking men burst into short, ruckus laughter.
"Oh I get it! This is Varryas' new walking cadaver!" He chortled. Adiran's head tilted slightly in confusion, a frown pulling at his brows as the rest of the men joined in. The first smiled, though it looked more like a grimace than anything. "Welcome to the barracks, slave."
The urge to sweep his feet from under him was nearly overpowering, but by sheer force of will he remained still. Head held high, he levelled the most disgusted look he could muster at the soldiers. It had little affect, as the big man stepped forwards, grabbing the collar of his rags and forcibly turning him to the side. "Dangerous, eh? What'd you do to get a brand like that? Steal a few cows?" He burst into upproarous laughter at his own joke, shoving the Essryni away roughly.
Adiran stumbled, but regained his footing, turning back to face the apparent Liuetenant with an expressionless look. "If you're finished. I'll be on my way." He said coldly.
Azalea caught most of that, and a low growl rumbled in her chest as she darted her head forward into the doorway.
"You done?" she asked Adiran, ignore the other men deliberately.
That earned a short bout of tense silence from the soldiers, in which Adiran nodded and turned, "Yea. We're done." He replied shortly, leaving the way he had come with a last icy look at the Liuetenant. Once they were a little ways away from the building, he sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "Thanks for that."
She snorted, wrapping her body around him for a moment to usher him in the right direction. "Don't worry about it," she rumbled, eyes still narrowed.
Adiran sent her a sideways look, allowing himself to be pushed in the right direction. Wherever that was. It was somewhat surprising that a dragon was the first one to be at least partially kind to him. He could honestly say it was not anywhere near what he was expecting when he first laid eyes on the large beast. Frowning, he shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked up at the dragon, "You never told me your name." He said, not having heard the commander earlier.
She ducked her head slightly. "Azalea. Az, if you like."
An odd name for a dragon, it brought to mind the delicate purple flower, not a beast of war. She cocked her head at him. "What's yours?"
Adiran hummed slightly at that, a touch of a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, "A strange name for one such as yourself." He voiced his thoughts aloud, raising silver hues to meet her own. "Adiran was my name, but it is long since any called me such."
"Adiran, then." She paused, nodding toward a lower building near the barracks. "Those are the servants' quarters. I think that's where you'll be reporting to."
Adiran looked over at the building with an unreadable expression, folding his arms over his chest and tilting his head slightly to both sides, stretching his neck, "And where do you 'report to'?" He queried, voice flat.
"The dragons' barracks," she answered easily, rustling her wings. "Over that way, the largest building."
He nodded at that, looking in the direction she gestured towards and spitting the tall, wide building. "I see." Was all he said, openly at least. "So now what?"
Azalea shuffled her wings in a draconic shrug. "Well, I have to report for training. I assume you should report to Commander Varryas's quarters, over there." She indicated the building with another jerk of her head.
Adiran sighed at that but nodded, offering the dragon a half wave as he wandered over to the low building. She was an intriguing creature, to be sure, and he could only hope he might see more of her over the days to come. He wasn't quite sure what to expect from this new 'life', but only time would tell what his new masters were like.
The dragoness tilted her head at him, then snorted and fluttering her wings, turning to make her way to the dragon training field.
Adiran emerged from the Commander's building a full ten minutes later, a bemused and somewhat disbelieving expression on his visage. Shaking his head, to himself, the slave turned until he spotted the white dragon across the field, when he walked over to her at a leisurely pace.
Azalea caught sight of the man and tilted her head, a little bemused. Why was he coming to her? She certainly wasn't his commander.
"Is there a problem?"
Adiran cracked what would almost be called a smile, eyes twinkling with bemusement. Leaning on the the fence the seperated the training yard from the rest of the barracks. "It would seem my job is to mind you."
The dragoness snorted, drawing her head back. "Mind me? What- how so?"
Adiran shrugged, raising his hands in a helpless gesture, "Apparently the commander wants me to, and I quote, 'look after' you." He replied, folding his arms over his chest, "Though I'm fairly certain you have permission to eat me should I do anything stupid. Don't worry. I don't plan to."
Azalea screwed her npse up- a rather comical expression on a dragon. "Wonderful," she muttered sullenly. "That's just great- oh!"
If she could have blushed, she would have, ducking her head and tucking her tail slightly. "Ah, sorry. I didn't mean to, um....slight you," she mumbled, shuffling her feet awkwardly.
Perhaps he was a slave, but it just wasn't in her to view him that way, and she worried she may have offended him.
Adiran laughed, the sound bitter and unused, "No offense taken." He said, waving a hand to appease her. Pulling himself up to sit on the fence, he half-smiled, bemused.
Azalea gave her head a brisk shake. "I, ah... I have no idea what I'm meant to do with you," she mumbled.
Adiran snorted, bemused expression fully in place, "Well, that makes two of us then." He chuckled
The dragon snorted again. "You aren't going to do anything with me," she pointed out wryly. She may be small for her kind, but she was still a dragon after all. She wasn't going to do anything she didn't want to.
She was confused why they'd sent one man to "mind" her. And her CO's new slave at that.