Post by Quakerlol on Dec 4, 2011 18:09:42 GMT -6
Your name is not important, as you are not to history. At least, not to the bigger picture. You were orphaned at a young age, your lusus killed by a freak cave-in. Enough other lusii of children about your age were killed in that accident that many of you suspected foul play, but there was nothing that you could do. Forced to support yourselves, you and the others were forced to sell yourselves to the mines. The mines were supposed to be fair jobs, with a salary and benefits, but they were essentially slavery. You had heard of younger miners disappearing from the job, with vague explanations of 'promotions,' but you and all the others dreaded the day that the supervisor would call you up.
Finally, that day came. You emerged, blinking and sullen, from the mine, and felt the supervisor's hand clamp down on your shoulder. You blinked in the light and squinted to make out the troll before you. You got a vague impression of long hair and robes before he spoke.
“I th(..)ught that I requested a servant of higher bl(..)(..)d.” You feel the supervisor dig his fingers tighter into your shoulder at this, and shove you forward slightly. You try not to stumble.
“7ir, thi7 girl ha7 7ome of the highe7t blood in the tow-“
“She is an (..)rangebl(..)(..)d. This is unacceptable.”
“Well, you 7ee, 7he’7 the highe7t we could get on 7uch 7hort not-“
“I require durable servants wh(..) will last f(..)r a l(..)ng time bef(..)re needing t(..) be replaced. An (..)rangebl(..)(..)d will n(..)t serve.”
A hand snakes out of a sleeve and grabs you by the chin, turning your face up to meet his. You blink away the orange tears obscuring your vision and try to meet his eyes. It must have been some trick of the light, but you could swear that they are an electric blue, like lightning in the distance. You blink and the impression was gone. He lets go and withdraws his hand, wiping it off inside his sleeve and folding his arms.
“She will d(..).”
He turns without another word and begins to walk away. You are jerked up onto her feet and made to follow him by some invisible force. The villagers part before you, people you've known all your life, yet none of them will look you in the eye. You stare at the ground and follow, letting dilute orange drip from your face onto the dusty ground.
Thus began your life as the slave of the Apostate. You cleaned all the rooms in the tower but his library and workshop, which you were forbidden to g o into. You prepared his meals and cleaned mysterious stains out of his robes. You remained in the tower for nearly a perigee before deciding to run away. You made sure that the Apostate was sleeping, which he rarely was, before enacting your plan. You took a bundle of clothes and food from the kitchen and left the tower as stealthily as possible. However, you were not out of sight of the tower before a storm began. You sought shelter under trees, but with a crack of lightning he appeared. His eyes were glowing as he grabbed your arm with a bony hand and muttered a word under his breath. With a rush of air you were back at the castle. He turned away without a word, and resumed ignoring you completely as usual. After about a week you tried it again. And again. And again. The fourth time you managed to get a response. Each time you had gotten a progressively shorter distance away from the tower, this time barely making it outside of the walls before he appeared.
After he teleported you back to your room, he turned away from you as usual, but stopped in the threshold. Without turning away, he asked you why you ran. You spat and told him that you would never be his slave, and proceeded to call him every term for a highblood that you had learned from the other miners. When you were finished, the silence stretched on until he nodded and returned to his library.
After that there was a subtle change in his treatment of you. He talked to you more than once a perigee, and you began talking back. You began warming to him, illogical as it was. Your respiteblock was moved higher in the tower, and you began taking your meals together. He finally allowed you into his library. You stood there awed at the sheer volume of books in that room, but also at the sheer amount of dust. You began even to help him with his experiments, fetching ingredients for him, even if you didn't ever know what they were for. An unspoken bond formed between the two of you. A pale bond. You became his Retainer, not his slave. You were a trusted companion, somebody he could confide all but his darkest secrets to.
When the revolution came, you begged him to allow you to go join them, but he refused, saying that it was far too dangerous and that the tower would be safer. He knew that his abilities would be able to ward off any attackers from either side, and so he counseled you to remain neutral. However, when rebels came to your door begging aid, you could not refuse them, and he could not refuse you. You fed them sheltered them, and dressed their wounds as best you could before the army came. Your moirail had been confident in his power before, but at the crucial moment it deserted him. Forced to run, you were all captured by a greenblooded commander and taken to a courtblock. You did not get a trial, as low on the hemospectrum as you were. You were brutally tortured for the whereabouts of other rebels, despite your insistence that you knew nothing and had just sheltered the rebels for the night. You requested time and again to speak to your moirail, but all you got was a kick in the face. Finally you were blindfolded and shoved into a sandy arena like the others had been, given a spear and told to fight one of the rebels that you had sheltered.
You didn't stand a chance. The rebel must have been being controlled, because she was sobbing while she was slashing at you with her sword. You could see her begging you to put her out of her torture, to finish her off, but whatever highblood was controlling her was too skilled to let that happen. You were tiring, bleeding from many wounds, when the courtblock exploded.
When the dust cleared, you could see the Apostate in a swirling cloud of black. You raised your hand, barely able to do so, and called his name. He looked at you with terrible blank glowing eyes, turned his back on you, and walked into the sky. Giving a last sob, you succumbed to your wounds, leaving nothing behind. In the grand scheme of history, you weren't very important. But you were to some.
Finally, that day came. You emerged, blinking and sullen, from the mine, and felt the supervisor's hand clamp down on your shoulder. You blinked in the light and squinted to make out the troll before you. You got a vague impression of long hair and robes before he spoke.
“I th(..)ught that I requested a servant of higher bl(..)(..)d.” You feel the supervisor dig his fingers tighter into your shoulder at this, and shove you forward slightly. You try not to stumble.
“7ir, thi7 girl ha7 7ome of the highe7t blood in the tow-“
“She is an (..)rangebl(..)(..)d. This is unacceptable.”
“Well, you 7ee, 7he’7 the highe7t we could get on 7uch 7hort not-“
“I require durable servants wh(..) will last f(..)r a l(..)ng time bef(..)re needing t(..) be replaced. An (..)rangebl(..)(..)d will n(..)t serve.”
A hand snakes out of a sleeve and grabs you by the chin, turning your face up to meet his. You blink away the orange tears obscuring your vision and try to meet his eyes. It must have been some trick of the light, but you could swear that they are an electric blue, like lightning in the distance. You blink and the impression was gone. He lets go and withdraws his hand, wiping it off inside his sleeve and folding his arms.
“She will d(..).”
He turns without another word and begins to walk away. You are jerked up onto her feet and made to follow him by some invisible force. The villagers part before you, people you've known all your life, yet none of them will look you in the eye. You stare at the ground and follow, letting dilute orange drip from your face onto the dusty ground.
Thus began your life as the slave of the Apostate. You cleaned all the rooms in the tower but his library and workshop, which you were forbidden to g o into. You prepared his meals and cleaned mysterious stains out of his robes. You remained in the tower for nearly a perigee before deciding to run away. You made sure that the Apostate was sleeping, which he rarely was, before enacting your plan. You took a bundle of clothes and food from the kitchen and left the tower as stealthily as possible. However, you were not out of sight of the tower before a storm began. You sought shelter under trees, but with a crack of lightning he appeared. His eyes were glowing as he grabbed your arm with a bony hand and muttered a word under his breath. With a rush of air you were back at the castle. He turned away without a word, and resumed ignoring you completely as usual. After about a week you tried it again. And again. And again. The fourth time you managed to get a response. Each time you had gotten a progressively shorter distance away from the tower, this time barely making it outside of the walls before he appeared.
After he teleported you back to your room, he turned away from you as usual, but stopped in the threshold. Without turning away, he asked you why you ran. You spat and told him that you would never be his slave, and proceeded to call him every term for a highblood that you had learned from the other miners. When you were finished, the silence stretched on until he nodded and returned to his library.
After that there was a subtle change in his treatment of you. He talked to you more than once a perigee, and you began talking back. You began warming to him, illogical as it was. Your respiteblock was moved higher in the tower, and you began taking your meals together. He finally allowed you into his library. You stood there awed at the sheer volume of books in that room, but also at the sheer amount of dust. You began even to help him with his experiments, fetching ingredients for him, even if you didn't ever know what they were for. An unspoken bond formed between the two of you. A pale bond. You became his Retainer, not his slave. You were a trusted companion, somebody he could confide all but his darkest secrets to.
When the revolution came, you begged him to allow you to go join them, but he refused, saying that it was far too dangerous and that the tower would be safer. He knew that his abilities would be able to ward off any attackers from either side, and so he counseled you to remain neutral. However, when rebels came to your door begging aid, you could not refuse them, and he could not refuse you. You fed them sheltered them, and dressed their wounds as best you could before the army came. Your moirail had been confident in his power before, but at the crucial moment it deserted him. Forced to run, you were all captured by a greenblooded commander and taken to a courtblock. You did not get a trial, as low on the hemospectrum as you were. You were brutally tortured for the whereabouts of other rebels, despite your insistence that you knew nothing and had just sheltered the rebels for the night. You requested time and again to speak to your moirail, but all you got was a kick in the face. Finally you were blindfolded and shoved into a sandy arena like the others had been, given a spear and told to fight one of the rebels that you had sheltered.
You didn't stand a chance. The rebel must have been being controlled, because she was sobbing while she was slashing at you with her sword. You could see her begging you to put her out of her torture, to finish her off, but whatever highblood was controlling her was too skilled to let that happen. You were tiring, bleeding from many wounds, when the courtblock exploded.
When the dust cleared, you could see the Apostate in a swirling cloud of black. You raised your hand, barely able to do so, and called his name. He looked at you with terrible blank glowing eyes, turned his back on you, and walked into the sky. Giving a last sob, you succumbed to your wounds, leaving nothing behind. In the grand scheme of history, you weren't very important. But you were to some.
