• Closed • Slave No More

[Zelferan]

Saun 8th, 717

The auction house was beyond massive, the room seemed almost to writhe like a dying beast in the last moments of its sorrowful existence. There was crying and laughter and screams which all filled out into an orchestra of mortal life, perfectly summing up existence as a whole. One giant damned mess with no one knowing exactly what in the hell they were supposed to do. The immortals didn't know what to do, men didn't know what to do, it was up for debate if the originals even know what to do considering they did something foolish enough to get themselves shattered. Funny enough, no one in the auction house seemed to really know what they were doing. As the proceedings stood, they were all just milling about like mindless sheep.

Just like life, the auction hall was a mess of human beings just going with the flow of what was ordered of them, going with the flow of their perceived normal. Hundreds of bodies stood down upon the red carpet which the massive stage overlooked. Polished and with a deep brown luster, the stage drew the eyes of many. Upon the stage were what appeared to be slaves of all different race and breed. Each one dipped its head, refusing to make eye contact with those above or those below the stage itself. Up on the banisters people leaned against the railings, laughing to one another. They seemed like they were in control. holding seats of power which allowed them to watch over the proceedings. But that was all just a lie to make them feel better about how powerless they were. In the end, the people were the ones who were closest to the stage. They were the ones who could over throw the auction master, they could change what was being sold. And in the end, all the people who were in power would sit and watch as they waited for the next wave of people in power to come up the stairs and slaughter them. And so the horrible tragedy of man kind continued in its endless Ouroboros.

Within the auction hall hundreds had so far gathered, more people poured in by the second. Soon there would be thousands or perhaps even millions. In some places the carpet became stampeded upon, taking on the dark hue of dirt. In other places, the carpet was avoided and retained its slick luster that was something akin to blood and tears. There were so many people who lined the halls. Each one shockingly enough was different, unique in one way or another, be it from the color of his eyes to the sheen of his hair or perhaps the way a certain birthmark curved against his calf. And yet, each one had a single trait shared on common. From those on the banisters to those on the floor to even those up on stage (a stage that was distinctly missing an auction master) they all shared this trait. Chains, collars, the brandings of slaves covered their bodies.

Some bore beautiful collars that were made out of gold and bound with jewels, these collars tended to say the word politics on them. In spite of the beauty, these collars squeezed and stole away the air of those that wore them. Others wore collars of rust, complete with chains that bound their hands and feet. As these chains rubbed against the skin they caused the bearer to bleed out, wincing and crying, faces contorted into pleading looks of pain. They'd be dead sooner than those in the golden collars, but would those mentioned even care? Likely not. Printed in rust and blood were the words poverty. Many different collars and chains and brands existed. Some said religion, others said duty or honor, there were even those which were branded with the word individuality (which was amusing enough for its irony). In the end, every man, woman, and child in the auditorium walked with a collar and was bound in chains.

All, except for one. Free from any restrictions a single man walked, his gait was a long and purposeful stride, his eyes trained on the stage as if he intended to jump up on there and do something of intrigue. Dark brown trusses shadowed over emerald pools which were focused entirely on the stage. It wasn't hard to see the 6'9 man, he easily stood out in a crowd. The people below him were an entirely different story, leading him to smack into one. He fully intended to keep on walking, plebs weren't worth his time, but then his eyes were caught by the interesting creature that he had managed to smack into. Instead of an apology, a demand was the first thing he uttered, "who are you?"

[Noth]

There was a distinct uncomfortableness that threatened to spill out angrily from the hybrid as he was bumped and prodded around by meandering people attempting to get a closer look at the stage. Beyond that, being stuck within the large crowd meant dealing with the intense bodily warmth that surged out of it, and the hybrid felt himself begin to sweat underneath his feathery coat. Even worse was probably the dreadful smell emanating out of all the peasants who had gathered together to look down on those with even more unfortunate lives than their own.

Essentially, that was the purpose of a slave auction, wasn’t it? It provided the opportunity for someone who had hit rock bottom to discover an abyss further down than even their own. It let the downtrodden and misfortunate trod upon someone else for a change, and it taught them to put their own issues into perspective, because at least they weren’t slaves. Rather ironically, that wasn’t entirely true. The event was almost certainly being run by one of the luxuriously clothed persons sitting upon the upper levels, and Noth had an inkling suspicion that if one of them were to bark down an order from their pulpit, the crowds upon the ground would follow it without question.

Just because no one had bought you didn’t mean you weren’t a slave.

The hybrid had been under the impression that those few people not upon the stage were simply purchasers and peasants who intended to mock those few slaves who passed by upon it, but it quickly become evident that the opposite was true. Every person in attendance wore some form of collar and some even had chains to go with them. Some of the collars were prettier than others, decorated and adorned in jewelry and golden ribbons, and they were marked with the word “Politics”. Some of the nastier and weaker looking slaves wore collars of rust which seemed to etch and tear against their flesh with every motion, and crimson eyes settled upon the word “Poverty.”

Noth turned his gaze from these ones, and continued his slow march through the crowds, attempting to discern the meaning behind each of the collars and their writings. There were other forms hidden throughout the crowd as well that he saw in flickering glances. A woman standing with her eyes shut, her hand clasped around a key, and her collar was engraved with the word “Society”. It seemed rather evident that she was keeping herself prisoner, which was fascinating to the murderous bird who had been under the impression that a slave always wanted to escape from their prison.

Perhaps it had been the excitement of the situation, or perhaps it had been the intense presence of bodies which had kept the items which ground against his own neck and hands hidden from him, but upon seeing so many slaves, he checked himself for similar markings. He felt at the collar upon his throat which now threatened to kill him, recognizing the hard coldness as bone. A single finger was traced along the edges, feeling out the indentations of the collar as the hybrid deciphered what his own reason for slavery had been.

“Hate.”

The word whispered itself into his mind, and he blinked open his eyes once more, staring down at the shackles which lined his wrists, but failed utterly at actually restricting him. The left one was black, shiny as though polished, and the right was red and bright like blood.

“Fear.”
“Death.”

As he read the inscription upon the red brace, he became acutely aware of a simmering and hot pain which formed upon his wrist, and he looked at it as a shriek of sudden suffering elicited itself from his lips.

“Eternal Mercy” was branded into his arm, still red and crude from its inscription.

He felt the sting of the brand once more as it marked the remainder of his arms, the invisible tool pressing hot agony into his flesh. He wanted to scream, but suddenly he became acutely aware that he could not. His voice had been banished to somewhere else.

“Suffering. Loneliness. Regret. Guilt. Terror. Disgust.”

Feathered hands gripped hold of the bone collar, and snapped it off in a single fell movement. It cracked and fell to the ground, and the instant it had been removed, the markings and the cuffs upon his arm vanished from existence, as though they had never been there at all. It meant something. It all had to mean something, but his scattered and pained mind could not fathom what any of it. Rapidly, the hybrid began to walk away from the location, gradually raising his back and infusing confidence back into himself as he stepped towards what appeared to be an exit.

And then someone walked into him.

They demanded that he identify himself. He felt inclined to disagree with a prompt slap upon the fellow’s face, but a quick look at his massive size, and the fact that he wore no collar intrigued the hybrid and dissuaded his wrath.

“I am Noth, Prince of Eternal Mercies. Who are you, collar-less fellow?”

[Zelferan]

Zelferan looked down at the creature, taking a careful and slow consideration of its existence. It looked like a very lonely man had found a very large bird. Zelferan wasn't really one to judge, being the kind of man that he was, but he usually preferred his ladies to have a bit more flesh and a little less feather. The creature was scrawny too, a pathetic looking whelp who barely seemed to have any muscle built up over his sad, short existence. Prince of Eternal Mercies he had called himself. What an arrogant little prick. If that wasn't enough to put Zelferan in a sour mood already, what he saw around the neck of the creature was. What Noth couldn't see, Zelferan could. A ring of skin going all around was lighter, slightly discolored from the rest. The silent imprint of a collar, noticeable only to those who looked, not those who tried to feel around their own neck.

In Zelferan's book, Noth instantly became one of the most pathetic and cowardly creatures of all. It was one thing to know you were a slave, it was one thing to enslave yourself, it was one thing to be enslaved and quietly bear the burden. It was another entirely to ignore your own slavery, to "rip" off the collar and pretend that you were free. That wasn't freedom, it was denial. To hide a collar, pretend you were free, act like nothing could hold you down, that was true cowardice and even truer weakness. And yet, only those who first denied their collars could ever truly break free of them. Some just needed a push. Even though this sad slovenly creature was a fake now, didn't mean he was useless. In fact, Zelferan could work with this. He had yet to find anyone else of a similar caliber. "You'll do," he said simply, giving no answer to his name or who in the world he was.

Without any regard for the well being or the wishes of Noth, he picked him up and slung the small creature across his shoulder, moving deeper into the crowd and back towards the stage. The opposite direction Noth wanted to go. No matter what Noth tried, he'd quickly find that Zelferan was more or less unphased by physical assault and there were no weapons in the auction house what so ever, even on Noth's own person. The large man was able to effectively push his way through the crowd and get right at the stage. Again without any sense of regard for Noth, he man handled the small bird creature and went as far as to throw him up onto the stage. Zelferan himself quickly followed after, hauling himself onto the stage. A bright spot light shone down on Noth, revealing all the bindings and brands that had been hidden when Noth "broke" his collar the first time.

"We've got a lovely specimen up here tonight!" Zelferan shouted. He grabbed a blazer and a tie seemingly out of nowhere and proceeded to put both on over rather average clothing. The whole adornment was rather odd, but also rather amusing to look at. After these clothes were on he proceeded to take on the role of auction master. "The most interesting thing about the creature we have up here tonight is the nature of his bindings. He doesn't seem to want to accept them, doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that he's controlled! My lovely people, one of two things are going to happen tonight. Either this little bird is going to find himself in even deeper, or he's going to be walking away as a truly free man!" Zelferan shouted. The two options in large part were directed at Noth, however, the instructions were left rather vague. "Where shall we start the bidding?"

"My self-confidence!" One of the men down on the carpet shouted out.

"My compassion," one the women on the banister cried.

"You can't bet something you don't have any more!" The original better cried in outrage.

[Noth]

It was poetically fitting that Noth had become a slave, and even that he had attempted to remove his own collar. The hybrid had always been a slave to the very emotions and feelings which had branded his flesh, and which had wrapped themselves around his throat and bound his hands, but he had never been willing to accept that he was the slave to those things, and not the master. At the end of the trial, however, the hybrid had deemed it better that he blame all of his faults upon others, that they were not his markings, but instead the works of enslaving Immortals; petty godlings which held his chain. Yet, there was no one who truly held him in place, no one who truly determined his actions for him; they were all his own, but he could not accept that. Accepting that his actions were his own was accepting that every crime he committed was done with free will, and not simply because he had been cursed to act in so wroth a manner, and that list of dead included his own father.

The giant of a man he had encountered scooped him up as though he were simply some ragdoll, and he felt the sudden sensation of weightlessness which hung upon his intestines as he was rather harshly carried about the room. The hybrid protested immediately, his talons lifting upwards and slashing what would have been grotesquely large and vicious marks into the man’s belly in an attempt at halting his movement. That tactic had worked to an extent once before, when he had been confronted by another fellow who was his superior in strength, and the twilight hybrid had learned a valuable lesson in keeping one’s internal organs in their fleshy casings. Rather frustratingly, the talons seemed to have little effect upon the fellow, and he marched onwards as though the wounds were non-existent, incapable of formation.

With little further resistance, Noth was hauled up to the stage where he had previously expected slaves, and quickly found himself in a similar position as those the crowds had condemned and taunted. A brilliant light of unusual brightness and intensity gleamed down upon him, and suddenly he became aware of a tickling and burning sensation arching its way through his veins, carried by his very blood like a parasite hollowing away the muscle in his body. He glanced downwards at the painful spots, taking notice of the burning bright markings which blazed with renewed agony as they became visible once more to him. The words taunted and ached and were painful, and the crimson-eyed monster averted his eyes from them, taking some satisfaction in feeling only a smoldering sensation when he refused to see the bindings.

They began to bid upon his soul, and the giant man who had dragged him up to the stage now spoke of him as an object, stating that he refused to see himself as a slave. Slaves were tools, and the hybrid knew that he was not a tool for anyone, even if that was a glaring contradiction when one considered his viewpoint of the Immortals. Such hypocrisies were lost upon the wicked beast, and crimson eyes flickered between the calling voices of those in the crowd.

All of them were sheep. All of them were bound by their weaknesses, each one branded with marks for their inabilities. He listened to them as they began to bid their souls for his own, making promises of personality; an odd payment for certain. Each of them were like pigs, each one consumed so heartily by their appetite for superiority that they deigned it reasonable to surrender their own flesh just so that they might nibble upon that of others. Yet, perhaps worse than both forms of animal, they were incredibly sick, lepers who saw their dreadful condition and thought it no more heinous than a simple cough. They acknowledged their weakness without truly acknowledging that it made them weak, and perhaps that was the most humorous spectacle of all.

The hybrid was offered two choices: To become ‘free’, or to dig himself deeper into the pit.

“True freedom means not listening to your options, or your opinions.”
Without another word, the hybrid stepped to his side, shifting out of the light of the spotlight for a brief instance so as to clutch hold of a torch located near the stage. He held the flaming instrument aloft, allowing it to pinpoint his position now that he was outside of the spotlight. There was a disappointed cry from someone in the crowd, who began shouting claims that he wasn’t allowed to step away from the light.

Perhaps it had been the terrible pain which had awoken his memory of the trial when he had explored the caverns, or perhaps it been the sheer oddity of being branded by a hundred blazing crimson letters. Nonetheless, the memory was awakened within him as he remained in the dark place upon the stage, recalling the abominable memory scene for scene. He remembered seeing his own skull, he remembered that gnawing sense of dread that had tugged at him, the sense that he still felt, the one that made him become suddenly fearful at night in a way usually reserved only for the delusional or for frightened children.

With a single outstretched digit aimed towards the dissenting voice, he shoved every piece of that otherworldly memory into what seemed palpable. He shoved all of that terror, all of that realization of hopelessness; the promise of salvation only through eternal entropy outward from his form, and directed it towards the dissenter. Their eyes locked for a brief instance, crimson and grey, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, the man began to scream.

It was too much for him. The memory still tore at Noth like a festering wound, but at least he had time to learn to deal with it, but the man before him had no such resting period. The weight of eternity fell upon him in an instant, and he screamed and bawled, scratching at his eyes with savage denial, crushed underfoot by the hybrid’s damnation.
And there, etched into the man’s writhing flesh grew a series of familiar crimson letters:
Noth

[Zelferan]

A smile slowly grew across Zelferan's face as he watched Noth. His first impression had been right, this one had promise. But his edges still weren't sharp enough, no matter how much of an emotionless killer he seemed to think he was. He could be sharpened though. Slowly he began to clap. "Well done," he said, skirting the edge of the spot light in order to stand next to Noth and rest a hand against his shoulder. "Impressive, all things considered. A flawless technique, you'd make a stunning auction master. Speaking of, I believe this auction still needs a master. Or a pair of masters," the man said as he leered down upon the man who Noth had branded. There was something ravenous in the way he looked down. His tongue ran across his lips. His hungry expression almost became satisfied as he allowed himself a moment to revel in the screams. There was no sweeter sound to Zel, who seemingly lacked a soul.

"I believe that perhaps should you find it in your heart to forgive my earlier actions, I could offer you some valuable resources should you see fit to return the favor. Of course, my earlier actions were truly out of the goodness of my heart! You have promise, a kind of promise I don't see often in my line of work. Prince of Eternal Mercies, you are the kind of man who should instead be a King. And if you were so willing to return it, I would be willing to offer you a couple favors," he purred in a voice like velvet. "You see, this is my world. I am a slaver! I am an auction master. Everyone wants to play a part in life, have a role, and the role of the weak is to feed the strong. You wouldn't want to be weak, would you? You wouldn't want to be a slave, would you?"

As if to emphasize his point Zelferan jumped off the stage, moving towards the man whom Noth had branded. Quickly he scooped the screaming man up in his arms and headed back towards the stage. The man was Zelferan's example of what being weak meant. His screaming and flailing did little to Zelferan. Quickly it was the man who was being thrown up into the spot light. "It seems our last item has made a choice and paid for his freedom with a new item, even if it may only be temporary considering the situation!" Zelferan shouted to the crowd who eventually got over themselves for being "conned" out of a new toy. "Would you like to start it?" He asked, turning to Noth with a snake like smile.

[Noth]

Admittedly, the twilight hybrid had hoped to shatter the expectations of the slaver who had forced him up upon the stage, though the way that a smile gradually crept across his face made it rather evident that the entire activity had been a test, an intricate deception meant to determine where he stood upon some unseen scale. The slaver held himself proudly, as though he himself were someone big and mighty, as though he were the person who decided judgements. The way that he strode forth, the way that he spoke in his gallivanting tone with such dramatic workings seemed to hint that the man thought himself nearly aristocratic in comparison to others.

Pride was a dangerous thing for monsters to feel. It was the same emotion which drove many to attempt feats beyond their reach, and it had led others to enact absolutely atrocious rulings or to deny a proper course of action for a more savage, but glorious one. The twilight hybrid thought himself rather strong in terms of militant and combative ability, but he recognized that there were others who would be cleverer than he, who would fight harder than he would, he could sneak stealthier, and draft letters with such elegance that they would resound like a spoken speech.

The slaver spoke, paying a compliment to the hybrid for his handling of the situation, and Noth felt his feathers twinge in anger at the prospect. He bristled gently, his crimson eyes boring into those of the slaver, and then casting a glance down at the man he had etched his name into, observing as his writhing finally came to a close, and he lay still. The fellow spoke of how the auction required a master, or better yet, a pair of masters, and the Avriel grimaced as he considered the implications of the statement, the offer unsubtly hidden within the context of that sentence.

He explained, declaring that he had only meant the best at heart, and that he seldom saw those who behaved in the way that he had, and yet, Noth questioned whether or not that was truly supposed to make him forget what had just occurred, the treachery that he had only recently experienced. The man whispered sweet nothings of kingship and of paying favors forward if only the twilight hybrid would repay them in kind, and yet, for all of the temptation that followed those statements, the murderous bird had already come to a grand conclusion, only intensified when he spoke of how he ‘owned’ the world, and how the role of the weak was to feed the strong.

The Prince growled softly as his newly marked servant was brought up onto stage, and offered to the crowd.

“Your offer is most generous.” He began, not bothering to hide the venom coating his words, “But I do not find you nearly as useful as you seem to find me.” The Avriel leaned down, taking hold of the forearm of the slave and pulling him to his feet, though the man remained hunched in some semblance of reverence to the bird despite his new-found position.

“We don’t agree on ideology. You don’t own the world, you pathetic little slaver. At best, all you own are a few pounds of flesh to keep you warm at night, and the temporary comfort that brings. No, you’re not some warrior or some champion strutting about… you’re just another brat who thinks himself worthy of something greater than his station. You’ve let your ambition swallow up anything redeemable about yourself, you sad cur.”

“I didn’t decide to conquer the world just because I wanted to be king. I decided to conquer the world, because I realized that I could make it better, and better doesn’t involve parasitic tumors like yourself jutting out of it.”

“In short, I accept. I’ll be the master…” The Avriel strode forth, slamming one of his talons against the chest of the slaver, and promptly shifted his weight so as to hurl him from the stage.

“…and you can feed the slaves.”

[Zelferan]

It was most unfortunate for Noth's intent given the situation they were in. Should this have been the real world, perhaps Noth would have possessed the strength to launch the man off of the stage, even at his substantial weight. But this wasn't their 'real world' by any means, instead, it was Emea. A world where dreams took on a sense of reality and pride was stronger than most anything else. In such a world, if one believed themselves to be a master of strength, then they were. Zelferan dreamed of power, strength, and the iron clad will to not bend his knee at any threat. His will was strong, and so he remained strong in his dream, simply grabbing Noth's leg as the talons attempted to dig into his chest and squeezing hard, as hard as he could. Or more so as hard as he thought himself able to in the setting of a dream where he thought himself a king.

"It is... regrettably unfortunate that you misunderstood. I don't see any use for you, I saw promise, and apparently I was wrong. Don't mistake my approaching you as me seeing some value in your existence. You mean about as much to me as anyone in this hall. It is equally regrettable that we could not find a way to see eye to eye," he said as he continued to cling to the leg Noth had so foolishly offered, slowly squeezing harder and harder. He pulled a dagger out of his belt, running it against the leg that he refused to let go of. His action was almost teasing as he never broke Noth's flesh. "The most unfortunate thing of all seemed to be that you don't understand the world you live in," he said with a small laugh.

Zelferan tugged on Noth's leg, attempting to pull him closer. If the man could resist or, that depended on what Noth thought himself to be capable of within the realms of Emea, and if his will was stronger than the blind and bull like nature of Zelferan. Either way, Zelf would drop his voice low enough that his words would be meant for Noth and Noth alone. "There is no way to make this world better because there is no good in it. Humanity is a sea of violent intolerance, disgusting actions, and substantial greed. The same goes for every other race under the sun, be it birds like yourself or lothar like me. The ones sitting atop it all are the ones who gave into the greed, fed it and learned how to abuse it. They were the ones who learned how to abuse others to feed that greed, they were the ones who looked around and went "I know how to manipulate this situation in my favor!" And no matter how much you work or strive to make the world a better place, you never will. You might even make it worse. The best part is one day someone stronger is going to come running along and throw you out. Be it a 'hero' trying to throw you off your throne or a dictator from another country who wants your land. In the end, life is a never ending cycle of trying to get the best out of it you can and kicking others out of power. I speak from the experience of more lives than you could imagine. You are one tiny little fish in a toxic sea. I know that one day I will be thrown from my throne, but I'll enjoy it till then and get every drop of decadence out of those around me that I can. And I also know when I get over thrown, it won't be by some idealistic and foolish child like you," Zelferan said in a quiet tone.

He let go of Noth's leg, shoving the bird away from himself and jumping from the stage. With that simple action, all of the people who were once there just disappeared. "In the end, you'll be alone! Enjoy the rest of your suffering you poor naive bastard!" The man called out, walking towards the entrance to the hall. He paused at the door, glancing one more time at Noth, never once giving a beat for a proper retort. The most Noth would have been able to get out would be some furious shouting as the lothar walked away. Zelferan's eyes just rested on Noth for a moment before they disappeared with the slamming of the door.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Thread Rewards

Zelferan

Overview

I loved how you set the stage in the beginning—great descriptions of everything … vivid especially in Emea. The whole concept of this thread was really thoughtful and I enjoyed it, dark though it was.

Points

XP:
15 | These points cannot be used for magic.

Fame:
N/A

Loot

N/A (Nothing ventured, nothing gained.)

Knowledge

Skill Knowledge

• Endurance: Resisting attacks
• Negotiation: Holding an Auction
• Negotiation: Replacing a promised item with a different item of equal value
• Persuasion: Offering a way out of a bad situation
• Strength: Carrying someone over the shoulder
• Strength: Not budging

Other Knowledge

• PC: Noth
• Noth: "Prince of Eternal Mercies"
• Noth: A new rival? Enemy?
• Noth: A petulant, naive child

Noth

Overview

Ah, the view into Noth’s mind in this thread … I loved it, thank you. The possibilities of Emea are always fascinating.

Points

XP:
15 | These points cannot be used for magic.

Fame:
N/A

Loot

N/A (Nothing ventured, nothing gained.)

Knowledge

Skill Knowledge

• Unarmed: Kicking in the Back
• Intimidation: Running a Blade Along Skin

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