The painful creek of the ships inner bowls filled Seriux’s ears, taunting in its own demonic manner. The slapping of the ocean waves forced tiny amounts of water through the miniature cracks, which were dusted sporadically through the slave ships outer hulls.

He felt the beginnings of fever just along the edge of his consciousness, giving the odd sharpening that would sometimes come with such things. It made the boy wary, he’d heard that madness could come quickly under such conditions.

He could nearly hear the rasping of his own breath shuttering through his malnourished lungs. It was a frightening feeling in all honesty, which he no longer had the energy to hide; his pride had been slashed and chained just as his wrists were now.

Bound in thick slavers iron, no doubt brought from the very edge of Dorneia, burned and cut to be strong but unmerciful. The tight brackets wound painfully around both of his wrists, cutting into the flesh there so blood and gore spilled whenever he attempted to move. Off of these hellish links ends thick copper-iron chains shackled him down to the line of the ship, sauntered to a thick black metal ring hitched to a slightly elevated walkway of oak wood.

The smells of old sweat and displaced human waste were a wretched constant plague upon his olfactory senses. So clear that in the roof of his mouth he could nearly taste the dirt and grime, which were vastly duplicating in the cramped confines of the ship.

Seriux could lick his teeth and the roof of his mouth and feel a thick film of saliva forming. No doubt a side effect from his bodies urge to receive some sort of water, the boy feared dehydration could become a serious issue, at least in the near future. As well as this danger he could no longer feel his fingertips, and half of both palms. His inner heart firmly suspected that this could be a repercussion of having both limbs kept at his side for too long a time.

Death and, its rotten cloaked companions, Misery, and Pain not far behind from the raw expression of discontented spirits, content for the moment to feed upon the weak and old.

Seriux moved his hands from side-to-side idly touching his dirt-covered legs, hands free enough to just brush across his hips. This offered only to a momentary comfort from the monotony of the weeping of his fellow captives.

In the port of Dalai, a yard that rested just before this one, he had been working to try and save up some money for a ship of his own. As long as the lad could remember he’d been near the sea, caught under some breeze of salt. Remembering that now made the bile rise from his stomach into his throat, a bitter mix with the hunger gnawing at his innards. The slavers had snatched him up in the night, an assumed run away they thought he would not be missed. Damn the men for being right.

The red curtain separating the food holding from the slaves was pushed aside, the sweet scent of cooked pork waffling torturously over the young lads face, a bit of cooking dark smoke mixed in. He had been bound closest to the forward facing side of the ship, a thin wall of wood and mortar the only thing separating him from the cooking area. A blessing and a curse one could suppose, considering every time a slaver came into this pit, he would push that cloth aside and Seriux could just smell the fruits of meat, and bread.

The slaver who had come from the other room was bald, with thick wrinkles just over his forehead, running along into squinting brown eyes. His skin was speckled from the sun, wrinkled as a prune from his years in the sun. Clothing the common scrap that a poor sailor could afford. Seriux suspected he was related to the fat captain, maybe an uncle, or elder brother.

The ugly slaver licked his thin lips; furry gray-black mustache jostling vaguely as he licked his lips, eyes turning from straight forward to glance at Seriux. The lad kept his head straight, dark hair rustling to loll messily on his shoulders. His light colored green eyes kept steady on the slavers face, wary of any movement the man might make.

“Yah a reel pretty one ain’t ya?” The slaver questioned giving a smirk, which did not make any part of Seriux feel comfortable (not that he had been in the past few weeks) a bit of anxiousness biting like a pissed dragonfly nibbling on his insides.

“Da masta ‘ll like you reel well, boy.” The bald slaver spoke allowing his fuzzy mustache to curve upward into an indecent smile.

He had spoken while walking, worn liver spotted hands pulling out a large set of keys, bound on a thick brown leather thong. Each of the metal contortions seemed uniquely shaped for a specific purpose, a few large enough to have to be held steady with two hands, several others so miniature that they seemed to be a lock to nothing more than a letter case. Most of the key’s had been laden with old with bits of cracked dirt, tarnishing their sheen and glisten. Two keys were strangely new on the set, formed of silver and steel, the bluish tint evidence of their manufacture; both were sealed with a crest that Seriux could not place.

Grunting the wrinkled slaver kneeled down and dispatched the connecting ring from the wall, pulling the long chain taunt. Seriux’s vision swayed, narrowing as all air was momentarily cut from his lungs. Smirking the man pulled again, a snap of metallic sound echoing in Seriux’s ears. He despised these slavers, pirates and thieves the lot of them! Content to steal and destroy all of that which did not belong to them, even the lives and souls of other creatures…Lokiian curse their beds and nights to harsh dreams.

The dark haired man stood from his position at the wall, dirty legs unsteady, glowering angrily at the slavers hidden smile. “Da Masta ‘ll rip you to shreds ya little dirty Nagrrida.” The foreign accent told Seriux little, there was no telling of what country this dirty slob was from. Quite honestly he had no idea in which direction of the oceans they were even traveling…the days molding into one another between scraps of food.

It seemed likely that the ship had been brought to port, after all no other vessels could pull aside the long side steamer on wide-open water. Sneering the bald man twisted his hand to curl the chain into a tight ring of metal, Seriux coughing as he was dragged forward, feet spread a part widely as he tried to keep his balance.

The slaver had drug him forward out of the slaves holding, into a dimly lit hallway and then stopped. His eyes were wide, fastened onto a door that rested about a foot in front of them. A bright light from the fire in the room glowed silently into the hallway, from under the crack of the door, the yellow-orange hue casting dark blue coloring onto Seriux’s tan skin.

The pirate-slaver’s diluted gray eyes for the moment containing an emotion that contained both fear, and pleasure. Seriux was made even more wary, if the slavers were frightened of this Master, then what could he do to him? Death at this moment might, in the long run, be a considerable blessing.

No! Such thoughts wouldn’t help him in the upcoming state of affairs; he had to keep his mind steady and hands quick. As of yet the meddlers had been careful, but scared men tended to loose their heads, and one could gain the advantage. That is when he would have his revenge.

“The boy is rather thin isn’t he? I don’t think I want to buy a lad that can’t keep some meat on his bones.” A new man spoke, blonde hair straight to the sides of his face, curled just slightly at the ends. He possessed a noble face, a long slightly upturned nose placed above thin lips, which were currently holding a tiny frown upon their edge.

Seriux sat silent, head bowed dark green eyes turned just slightly upward to watch the exchange. His wrists had been bound in front of him, the holding chain snapped tight to a large heavy trunk placed upon the wooden floor.

“Ah but Master look at his face! Such a lovely sea-child couldn’t stand against your taste for the working boys.” Captain Tordos spoke, leaning against his writing desk. Seriux did not glance at the man but he could imagine he was smirking, the ass always was, and lips thin with a short stub scar over his nose that reached downward. For his brief captivity he had only met the man twice, the suffering he had sworn someday he’d be the one to levee a dagger into his gut.

Seriux noticed the Master was a shorter man like himself, dressed in traders clothing. It was merely the traditional tight-buttoned jacket made of dark red leather, and a pair of pressed gold pants, which were lavishly decorated in red threading. The front of the tight blazer was held closed by several magnetic golden fastens, each engraved with a travelers seal. His hair was the color of the summer grains, blonde and seemed well kept against a pale complexion, which to the lad was unusual looking.

“Ah, well that can be easily tended to, a bit of food and he would make a fine amusement for your home…” the captain spoke; thoughtfully stroking his dark skinned hand over his facial hair it was black in color. He kicked his leg out straight, long worn brown working pants stained slightly with ocean water and old dust, Seriux wished for even that sort of clothing, the chill rising on his skin was making his lower jaw shake.

Seriux bit the inside of his mouth, turning his gaze down in a snap to drive off the cold, dark knife cut hair falling to hide the two green irises from view. How dare these users of men, speak of him as if…as if a pelt just carved off of a beaver hide, nothing more than a trivial companion to their noble person. It made his stomach turn, shame spinning headily inside himself similar to that fashion in which a volcano would spurn itself under the earth.

The Master interrupted Seriux’s contemplation, moving over and lifted his head up; face turned toward the shorter mans vision. “You are correct that he is beautiful, such unusual colored eyes…I’ll take him, but for no less than four hundred cutts.” His voice was chilly, just lightly dusted with amusement that Seriux couldn’t help but think was out of place.

“He is worth at least six hundred, capturing him cost me four of my men!” Tordos’s face gained an angry edge, his voice mutating from the false gentlemanly tone to that of his true nature. Stepping forward he bit his lip, face puffing up and gaining a crimson coloring. It reminded Seriux of the rare sour faced red gabóta fish which lived in the recesses of the clearest coastal waters. This sort of fish would once cornered would flail itself around, poison leaking in all directions and do everything in its capability to kill the other beings around it.

The Master’s frowned deepened, hands moving to rest just slightly on thin nearly delicate hips, a light colored eyebrow lifting up slightly as he replied to the haughty captain. Seriux rather thought his voice was poured from a bottle of chilled venomous wine, smooth around the edges but sour upon the tongue. “I supplied those men to you, just as I’ve supplied your money for this entire ship, I should not even be paying you for this Courior!” his light colored blue eyes seemed to glimmer, the captain loosing his voice for a moment. The Master moving forward in one breath, swaying in a feral manner that mimicked the motions of a undomesticated panther, smaller stature managing to transmute his small stature into a sublimate of defined grace.

The Masters hand snapped forward, slinging into Tordos’s face blood spurting from his nose in one tick of the clock. The Masters leg had moved into his gut, pushing in deep enough to break a bone, the sound fresh in the air as well as Seriux’s ears. The whale of a man falling to his knees and coughing, breathe shooting out into the air with a tight wisp. His eyes had closed, dark thick eyebrows pulling down on his slightly wrinkled brow.

Seriux had once again fastened his gaze on the flaxen Master, partly impressed with how easily he had brought the other to his knees, as well as marginally sickened at that same effort.

The Master was silent, face a beatific mask of utter indifference, as if he had merely pulled a weed in the garden and tossed it aside. His hand and leg lowering to his form, regaining the air of nobility from that violence as if pulling on a thick cloak for the winter draft.

“I am sorry Master, I’ll remember to keep my tongue next time…the boy is yours for free in my apology.” Torsos spoke, voice as shade quieter than anything Seriux had ever heard before, head turned away from both of the smaller men.

Seriux at this moment was wishing he were back on the ship, bound and starving…rather than being lowered into a small decrepit rowboat along with a blonde Master who had easily toppled a man four times his size. The Master was silent, eyes staring outward to the ocean, hands curled tightly I his lap as they made the shaky departure onto the water. The ropes from the Ship were tied tightly to the spinning cutlasses, which lowered them down, several sailors and slavers heaving the heavy rowboat down onto the liquid bellow.

Fortuitously for Seriux his hands had been unbound, and he could hold onto the edge of the boat with both. It was a relief as well that he was now clothed in a loose white cloak and a pair of half broken sandals, nakedness had left him feeling dirty.

They finally reached the water, the small ship flopping down onto it with a rapid shaking motion that shook both the both of them. The Master glanced at him and nodded for him to row, he was strangely silent and seemed to carry himself a bit...differently.

Seriux rowed the boat as commanded, he had no weapon, nor any idea were they were he would not kill a man he did not know for no reason. The tan skinned man ducked his dark head slightly; he squinted in the darkness to look for any kind of marking as to find their area.

Overhead no stars could be seen, only the chilly gust of a fae’s wind every few minutes a company to the two lone travelers on the waters edge. Seriux had missed this, the fresh smell of quick sea salt, the brush of chilled ocean water dribbling over his skin and into his soul.

Several minutes passed, and the Master sighed softly shaking his head. Seriux stared at him slightly; it seemed an abnormal action for such a straight-laced man.

“Oh, those slavers sure don’t give you much to eat do they boy?” he questioned, giving a wide smile, thin lips seeming to appear much more attractive in that expression than his angry frown. Glimmering bright blue eyes fastened on Seriux’s face with attention devout of a curious student finding a new teacher to learn from.

The Master popped his shoulders, the sound of stretching leather echoing in Seriux’s ears, rolling the joints for a moment. Then stretched both arms, using his chest to put pressure on them both, taking each finger and popping the air in-between each one. Seriux had never been more confused, this man was insane, on the ship he had actually accused him of being to thin and scrawny to be taken off for slave labor, and now he was speaking as if they were friends?

“When we get to Arenille I’ll snatch you up something to eat, your face is about as pale as a babies rear end. It’s strange looking on a sea-lance.” The Master spoke; nodding sagely in a fashion that was most likely sarcastic Seriux frowned.

“What are you talking about?” he questioned, his voice a bit broken and a shock to his own ears, he had given up speaking two days after his capture. “I am speaking of the fact that you are nearly starving and need to be fed, is that a problem?” the Master questioned lifting that blonde eyebrow again.

“Yes, no. I mean why are you even speaking to me?” he questioned, and then thought of that himself, it was hurtful to his pride to have said such a thing. “Well honestly I hate to not speaking for too long, its tedious and unnecessary.” The master murmured, quieting his voice for a reason Seriux couldn’t guess.

“Listen, I’m not what…I appeared to be on the ship. I was sent here by an old friend to retrieve you from those slavers, luckily they’ve been under my control for years.” The Master spoke, and Seriux allowed his eyes to stare into the other mans sky colored ones. He did not remove the confused frown from his face, but allowed the Master to continue. “Its my duty to take you to him, you aren’t bound for the whore houses any longer.” He gave a nod and another of those wide grins, Seriux finally spoke again after a moment of thought.

“What is your name then? I’m sure they told you mine.” That in itself was an offense, but he didn’t think the other thought of it that way. “Oh, my name, that silly old thing. Well for now Seriux, you can call me Loki.”