There wasn't a great deal that went on in Erthe's life anymore that made him so much as bat an eye. Life in the pits was a far cry from pleasant, but it was relatively predictable. He woke up, was fed, sometimes he was sent to fight – or die – and sometimes he spent the day doing chores. Having this type of master was his norm, and while it wasn't exactly an ideal existence, it had become comfortable in its familiarity. Being sold disrupted that monotonous, mindless routine.
The drow could see the disgust of his new master every single time the man so much as glanced in his direction. It was curious that a human with such obvious disdain for him would spend money to acquire him. What was even more interesting was the cheap price. That was almost insulting. Erthe was a winner in the pits; he made his master lots of money. Why the low price? Perhaps it was because there was trouble for his master recently. Business wasn't going so well, he found himself doing more chores than fights.
Either way, it hardly mattered. As a slave his thoughts didn't count. No one cared what his opinion about the situation was. So he followed the portly, balding human without question and without complaint. That's what was expected, was it not? In no time at all he found himself turned loose. Not free, of course, but dismissed and sent on an errand. Erthe found it highly unusual, but it wasn't his place to question his new master's wishes.
Fighting in the pits was a hard life. Somehow this was even harder. With next to no resources, he marched from Serendipity where he'd been purchased, back to Adela, where he had been born. According to the old man his niece in Ketra was reluctant to join him at his home and marry her betrothed. His job was to fetch her and see her safely to her wedding. Not exactly the kind of work he was going to relish, but it was what his master wished, and what his master wanted of him was what would be done.
After weeks – he couldn't even count the days or passing of time – he finally found himself stumbling wearily on the outskirts of Ketra, searching for the house of Primrose Dragoslov. In all that time he'd not had a proper shelter, sleeping outside regardless of wind or rain, cold or heat, and not being provided enough food or coin for more than a very strict rationing of food. Yes, Erthe found himself almost missing the fighting pits, of all the absurd things.
When he finally found the right house, he pulled the sealed letter from his master to the young woman, holding it carefully in a large hand as he strolled up to the door and knocked calmly. His travel-worn clothing and dusty appearance weren't exactly going to lend himself to good impressions but it couldn't be helped. At least the hood of his black cloak was pushed back, revealing his face clearly, white bangs hanging limply, almost as if they were as tired as the rest of him.