» Sat Feb 19, 2011 8:37 am Chapter One: Without Hope
Relvos grabbed another patch of snow-covered grass in front of him, pulling himself as far forward as he could manage. The wounds on his lower torso and left leg were bleeding heavily, and he had neither a bandage nor any medicine to slow it. He had been searching for his horse in the woods, and out of nowhere came an arrow, piercing his abdominal area. He had managed to escape his attacker, but not before being shot in the leg as well. His long hair, wet and untidy, was hindering his vision, but he had neither the will nor the strength to clear it away. He just lay there now, on the cold ground, practically waiting for death to take him. He should never have left Vvardenfell, never had left his comfortable house in Ald-ruhn. Now he was here, stuck in the region of Solthsteim, with no house, no allies, no hope. His vision was beginning to blur, he was going to pass out. The last thing Relvos saw before fading into unconsciousness was a figure approaching from afar.
A hard kick to the back awoke Relvos, and the pain was enough to bypass all the grogginess that came with waking up. He was fully aware, and was greeted by a particularly brutish-looking Orc staring at him.
“Get up Dunmer scum, and make it quick!” he said, sounding as harsh as he possibly could. Relvos’ wounds had been bandaged, and it wasn’t very painful to move around. Around him, he could see others, with their hands bound. It was then that he noticed his own bindings, two bracers connected by a worn piece of rope. He was surrounded by wooden barrels, and the walls were obviously those of a tent. The orc was walking around, waking everyone who wasn’t already. Suddenly, a hand pushed away the draqes that acted as the tent’s door, and a tall, pale human walked in.
The man stood tall, even taller than the orc, who was menacing enough. The man was wearing heavy fur all over his body, and a longsword sit in its hilt at his waist.
“Boss says that these ain’t enough. Says we’re not gonna make it through this winter,” he said in a deep, loud voice. Relvos had finally figured it out; they were to be Slaves. The men here were smugglers, and judging by the man’s words, there were a lot of them if they needed so many slaves just to make enough to live. He mustered up enough courage to speak,
“I am Relvos Viralen, of House Redoran. If you do not release me, there will be a price to pay, I assure you,” he said, clearing his throat twice. The man just glared at him, and the orc spoke.
“Do you really think someone looking for a slave would care? No. They view you all the same, worthless lives who’s only purpose is to serve, like an animal,” he said, sounding quite intelligent compared to the man. Intelligent or not, Relvos wasn’t very happy about the disrespect. He was raised to think he was above most people, and that train of thought had become instinctive for him. Nonetheless, he kept his mouth shut from then on. After a short discussion on pricing, both the orc and man left the tent. Relvos didn’t completely understand his situation. He wasn’t a very vulnerable person, definitely not one that someone would want as a slave. While most of the other to-be slaves looked weak, Relvos had a very muscular, strong build. He was also skilled in the use of a blade, and was trained for armed combat. It wasn’t all bad, though, because at the very least, he wasn’t dead. Relvos heard a faint snap, and noticed a Khajiit slave had chewed through the rope on his bracers.
