The Slave Trade (Open Thread)

[Morhin]

Morhin heard something in Cyrith's voise. She had been a slave, a fact that he knew but was just now understanding. This would be hard for her. She would have to act like a slave again. Just having to thing about slavers was probably bringing back painful memories. Memories she would rather have forgoten. Morhin taped his pipe on the table, knocking the unburned tobacco out of it. Still stairing at the pipe, he spoke.

"My father bought slaves." He said slowly. "But they worked in his house as attendents. Many he bought from crule lords because he hated to see them unmercifuly beaten. One slave he bought was an elf. An elf maiden. He fell in love with her, even made her his wife." Morhin was looking at his pipe, but his eyes were unfocused, staring past it into the past. When he continued, it was more to himself than anyone else. "He let her go. She returned to her people and gave birth to a son. A Dark Child." He muttered in elven. "The boy grew up and left to find the land of his father. Maybe there he would be excepted." Morhin finaly looked back up at Cyrith, a mixture of pain and hate in his eyes. "I only knew him for a few hours before the Tatteyen killed him. My father had lost his home, his land, all he owned because he would not support them. All he had left was this whip." He layed the silver handled whip on the table. He staried at the whip for a long time. Then put it away when he remembered that Cyrith's fear of whips.

Looking back at her, Morhin asked quitely. "How did you become a slave, if I you want answer?"

[Cyrith]

Cyrith just looked at him as he spoke, staring at his pipe, as if though speaking to no one in particular. 'A son of a slaver,' Cyrith thought bitterly but she pushed that bitterness away, listening to the whole story. 'Half-elven?' Cyrith would have never guessed it, for he did not look it at all. She couldn't see his ears but she wondered if it were possible that they were pointed. She could pity him, but she did not know how.
Cyrith shuddered and looked away when the whip was once again within her eye sight. 'Put that damn thing away,' Cyrith thought angerly in her mind. As if though he had read her thoughts, he removed the whip from the table only moments after.

Cyrith turned her attention back to the wall. She took in his every word but said nothing in return for a long time. She rubbed at her temple and sighed. She could use a strong drink about now.
"I was born a slave," Cyrith finally replied. "My mama and papa are dead, I never them. I was left an orphan and raised by my older brother.

[Morhin]

Morhin sat in silence for a long time. Though he had had a hard time growing up a human among elves, he at least had his mother and uncle. He had been free. Cryith, she had had only her brother to look out for her. Morhin wasn't sure if he should press the matter, but was cureous as to how she became free of the slavers. "What happened to your brother?" He asked quitely. A gental rain began to fall outside, which was not uncommon. They were only a days ride from the Sea of Rhun, so rain fell a lot more often in these parts, if not very much.

[Cyrith]

Again, Cyrith sat in silence for a period of time before answering. She was unsure about answering his questions, but was not forcing her to answer, she just simply chose to. "He fell very ill one winter and so did a friend of ours," Cyrith said. "I did the best I could to tend to them and make them well again, but in the end I failed. I was left on my own after that. I had no to look out for me or protect me when I needed it. It was a matter of life and death."
Cyrith listened to the rain that fell outside. She did not care for the rain at all. It always made everything much more difficult.

[Morhin]

Morhin nodded. He knew what it was like to be on his own. When every disision you made might be your last. When he had first left his home with the elves, he had spend over ten years simlply wondering around the plains of Rhun. The land was crule and unforgiving. He had slept on the open ground as windstorms blew sand against him and threatend to burry him beneith it. He had fought the voltures for scraps of a dead horse to keep from starving. And he too had failed the ones he loved. He had failed his father in fighting against the Tatteyen. He understood Cyrith's pain, to an extent. They were not so unalike.

Standing, Morhin walked to the window and looked out. It rain had all but stoped, leaving behind a gentle mist that hid all but the closest buildings. He was tired. If he was to fight the slaver traders tomarrow he would need to get some sleep. He braced a chair under the door and sat down with his feet up on a table near it. He glanced up at Cyrith and said, "I am going to get some sleep. You should as well. I beileve that 'Old Timer' prepared a room for me to sleep in, but you can use it. I rest better here anyway, knowing that the door is being watched. He set his whip on the table and layed his large knife across his lap. Leaning back against the wall, Morhin closed his eyes and began to quitely sing a have remembered tune to himself in elven. Within mininits, he was asleep.

[Cyrith]

Truth be told, Cyrith was not really interesting in taking his room, she was much use to sleeping on the ground. She could feel insulted over the matter, as if though he looked at her thinking that was in a serious need of a good night sleep, or maybe at least something better to sleep in, she couldn't really tell. It could have been neither, maybe just an offering. The little things can easily make her angry.
Cyrith said nothing to him as she turned and headed upstairs. She didn't know which room was his, having forgotten to ask. It was quiet upstairs, having guess either Rangers were asleep or the rooms where unoccupied. She got down onto the floor and pressed the side of her head onto the cold surface, looking to see if she could catch the sight of a glow of a fire from underneath the small crack between the door and the floor.
She checked every room unrtil she found one that was pitch black. Assuming that it was his room, she stood up and opened the door and walked inside. It was cold inside. She kneeled down in front and the fireplace and started up a fire to bring in some light and warm up the room. She sat down in front of the fire, just staring into it, as if though she were in thought. At some point, her eyes became heavy and she found it difficult to stay awake. She stood up and walked over to the bed and fell down on it. She curled up slightly and quickly fell asleep, her weapons still attached to her.

[Morhin]

Morhin awoke suddenly and grabed his knife. "No need for that Morhin. It's just me." Morhin lowered his knife and looked around. It was morning and the Old Timer already had breakfast sitting on the table for him. Nodding his thanks, Morhin took the plate and ate. There was much on his mind this morning. He had had another one of those nightmares last night. The ones that showed him failing to protect those he caired about. Trying to push the image from his mind, he finished eating and stood up. He didn't see Cyrith so he imagened that she was still asleep. "I'm going to check on my horse." He told the Old Timer. "See to it that the girl gets a good meal too."

Morhin steped outside. The morning was already warm and only few places showed any evidence that it had rained at all the night before. Keeping his head covered, Morhin moved around to the small stable where the Old Timer had put his horse. The mare saw him and reached her head out to him. Smiling, he rubed her nose and petted her. After giving her both food and water, Morhin steped over to the next stall and looked over Cyrith's horse. The horse look to have been better fed than its master did. Morhin smiled, "A little easyer to you to find a meal than your master, isn't it?" Morhin gave the horse water and food as well then went to check his gear.

[Cyrith]

Cyrith's tired eyes blinked open a of times, the light of the morning sun shining into her face. She gronaed out of annoyance and turned over and laid on her other side, her back facing the window. The fire and died out and there was a but a slight chill in the room but nothing that bothered her. She did not know how long she had slept or what time it was.
Cyrith rubbed her eyes and rose from her bed, grabbing her bag and walked out of the room, making her way downstairs and out the door of the Inn. Old Timer saw her come down but she was out the door before he could say anything. She continued over to the stables where her horse was kept, most likely wanting his breakfast. However, when she had stepped inside the stable and walked over to his stall, she saw that he already had food. 'Who fed you?' she asked herself. It was then she had finally noticed him, in the stable as well, the man from last night. So he was still hanging around. "Was it you that fed my horse?" she asked.

[Morhin]

Morhin had his gear out and was oiling down his saddle when he heard a voice behind him. Turning, he saw Cyrith standing there beside her horse. He hadn't heard anything defincive or angry in her voice so he just shrugged and said, "I did. I was feeding my horse and thought that since I was here I would go ahead and feed yours." He turned back to his saddle and finished oiling it. He then held up the bit and examined it for tears or cracks on it. Finding none he turned around and faced Cyrith. He removed the bandage that had been tied around his arm and examined it. It had healed nicely, although it hadn't been a very deep cut to begin with. "You have some skill with a blade." He said as he tossed the bandage away. "That is very clear." He streached his arm and worked it around, making sure that the scab didn't crack and open again. "But how well can you use that bow?" He asked, pointing to the one Cyrith had.

[Cyrith]

Cyrith raised an eyebrow and wondered how he could look at her and tell what her swordsmanship skills were. She just rolled her eyes and watched as he examined his arm after having it wounded yesterday due to her sword. She did not feel sorry in any way but was rather surprised on how quickly it healed. He was a very strange induvidual. Cyrith simply shrugged her shoulders when he questioned her about her skill with a bow. She did not know why he wanted know about her battle skills but she answered anyway. "I am decent enough with it," she replied. "But I don't often use it as a weapon to fight. I use it more for hunting."

[Morhin]

Morhin had caught her rolling her eyes at him but said nothing of it. He had trained and had studied almost every form of combat there was. Just by seeing how a person walked and held themselves up could tell him a lot about how much fighting skill they possessed. He had seen it in Cyrith. She was a surviver. She fought in whatever way would allow her to survive.

Morhin had been thinking a lot about what strengths and weakness they had and what their opponents would have. He figure he could handle, maybe ten at once. I it was a life or death situation and he had nowhere else to run he could handle ten. Cyrith, he knew that she could at least defend herself against. He was some what disappointed to hear that she only used her bow for hunting. But there really wouldn't be much time to shoot anyway. He stared at her for a moment with unfocused eyes, thinking. Something bothered him. She freezes up every time she hears a whip. If I start cracking my whip in a fight, or another slaver cracks one she's going to freeze up and get herself killed. His eyes refocused on her. How can I brake her of her fear?Or at least help her to overcome it so she doesn't freeze up on me. Slowly he removed his whip from his belt, watching Cyrith's reaction. He unrolled it and cracked it, still keeping his eyes on Cyrith. Morhin then rolled it back into a loop and held it out to her. "Take the whip and crack it once." He hoped that she wouldn't become too offended and leave. He needed her help.

[Cyrith]

"I was better trained in close combat fighting," Cyrith said. "With swords and all." Cyrith only admitted to herself that there were other skills she needed to better herself at that had nothing to do with survival out in the wild and defending herself from danger. Although she was smart there, she faired worse in the basic skills of those who lived a normal life.

She could not really understand how he can look at her and know what her strengths and abilities are. What that a skill of the Elves? Because he could read her as if though she were a book. What she had already told him herself enough as it was.

Cyrith's body shuttered lightly and she squeezed her eyes shut as the sound of the whip cracked in the air. What was this man trying to prove? She understood not. He was strange. But then again, she was probably no stranger in his eyes.
Take the whip and crack it once.
Take the whip! Shouted in her mind. Is he mad? The last thing Cyrith wanted to do was touch the vile weapon. Why would he ask her to do so? He obviously knew now she had feared them. He had to have something going on in his head. What ever that was, she was not sure if she wanted to know.
Cyrith looked at the man, trying to read his face. She did not see anything sinister and perhaps he had good reason.
Cyrith slowly raised her hand and only slightly reached out, as if though thinking of taking the weapon but she quickly drew her hand back, changing her mind. "Surely you jest," she said. "I cannot touch that thing." She pointed to the whip.

[Morhin]

Morhin watched carefully to her reaction to the whip. He could see that she was terified of it. And that would not help him much. He reapeated his command to take the whip and crack it and saw, to his surprise, Cyrith begin to reach out to take it. But she quickly pulled back and said, "Surely you jest. I cannot touch that thing." Morhin continued to hold the whip out towards her and asked, "Why not? What are you affraid of?" He let the question sink in before continuing. "A whip will not hurt you. It has no power of it's own. It is the one who uses it that can hurt you." Morhin layed the whip on the ground in front of her and steped back. Again he repeated, but in a pationt tone, "Pick up the whip and crack it once. Over come your fear, be free of it."

[Cyrith]

Cyrith stared down at the weapon on the ground. She just stared..so a long while, still not wanting to touch it. She was at war with her own mind. One part said to touch it, the other said not to.
A whip will not hurt you. It has no power of it's own. It is the one who uses it that can hurt you.
Cyrith glared at Rawhide. Of course it had no power of it's own. She was not an idiot.

Cyrith slowly kneeled down and reached for the whip. Again, she pulled her hand back, she reached out again but just held her hand in the air as if those trying to decided to go for it or not. She then made a quick and sudden reach and grabbed the handle of the whip.
The moment Cyrith had touched it, the memories flashed back into her mind and so did the pain. She had escaped many whippings when she was young for her brother took blame for her mistakes and stood in her place just to spare her from it.
However, she made a reckless attempt to run away but only to end up being hunted down and brought back. She was tied to a tree and was whipped as punishment. Each lash felt like fire burning on her back. She bit down on her lower lip just to try and keep herself from crying out but it didn't stop the tears of pain from falling. With her back covered in blood, the master's men then left her tied to the tree over night, to think about what she had done. The next morning, the men returned and she was released from the tree, thrown to the ground and kicked her numerous times and then threatened to kill her if she tried to escape again.
Cyrith slowly rose from the floor, with the whip in hand. Wanting just to get it over with, she took up the whip and cracked it. She let out a small shriek, suddenly dropped the whip and covered her mouth with her other hand, trying to muffle it out. If he thought her to be foolish, then so be it. He was a high ranking official and would not understand.

[Morhin]

Morhin watched in compleat silence. He saw the Cyrith strugle to master her fear and just touch the whip. Morhin continued to study her after she droped the whip. "That will do." He said quitetly as he bent down and picked up the whip. Morhin rolled it up and returned it to his belt, out of sight. "Next time, keep your arm loose." Morhin incourouged. "It allows you to have more control, but not too loose otherwise you'll drop it again."

"Would you mind sparing some?" Morhin asked. "I would like the practice and perhaps we both could learn a new trick or two." Morhin was always watching for new tricks and fighting styles. A fighter with more knowledge of different fighting styles usaly won over a less knowledgeable opponite.

Morhin's sword was hidden underneath an old blanket near the tack room. He hadn't wanted to carry it with him earlyer when he was making the deal with the slave traders, but now he decided that it would be best to have the weapon close at hand. Pulled the blanket aside and reached for his weapon. But suddenly he jumped back and stiffened cry of fear. Near his sword, coiled up and asleep, was a large black snake. Morhin couldn't move. He was terrified of snakes. He, Grand Warmaster of Rhun, who had fought off attackers and assassigns with flinching. Even the Tazen, who all others feared, he had fought off without blinking. Morhin had fought ever wild creature imagenable. But when it came to snakes, Morhin couldn't move.

He turned to Cyrith, and pointed at the snake. "Sn...Snake.... Get it out of here..!"