”Yeah,” Rilka says as she begins to eat the food as if she hasn’t eaten in a day. ”My name’s Gerriot. You want the rest?” She offers the last third to the boy.
The boy smiles and reaches for it, but stops and pulls his hand back with a frown. "What do I have to do for it?"
As Bjorkus is snooping he hears voices at the door, but they are too muffled to hear at this distance.
Bjorkus closes the cabinets leaving the books for now and moves closer to the door to listen.
Pressing his ear against the door he hears his torturer and some other male speaking.
"Listen you freak, I don't care how much Targ likes you, your budget it way out of line. First we had to reinforce the door, then you bought the most expensive poison I've ever seen."
"Perfection requires sacrifice, material cost is negligible compared to the goal..."
"Save your twisted piety for somebody who cares. Consider yourself cut off."
Bjorkus hears footsteps walking away.
Stepping away from the door, the bull weakly limps back toward the table.
"I must agree with Toramin, here; less mouths spill less secrets. If you need some additional resources to bolster this party, here." Dalton reaches into his satchel received yesterday and gives both Toramin and Rilka 8 platinum pieces. "But let us remember: While we might dislike the overlord as much as the next person, we must be effective before we have the luxury of being punitive. I hope I can learn something at my appointment this evening that will lead to our increased effectiveness."
"Thanks for the funds," Rilka says. "I agree with you and Toramin. Don't tell the halflings. Just mentioned it as a possibility."
~~~~~~~
"Gerriot" softens his expression. ”You already earned it by helping me. But if you don’t want it...” Gerriot shrugs, licking his lips. He’ll wait for a definitive signal one way or the other from the boy before eating the last of the food.
Gerriot will make himself comfortable, sitting down. ”You care if I rest here? I don’t have any money so beating me up gets you nothing.”
The boy looks at Rilka a moment longer, then slowly takes the food. "Sorry, just being careful. You know how it is. Thanks." He starts nibbling on the food. When Rilka mentions beating he laughs. "Do I look like muscle? You can stay here but don't draw any attention."
An hour before the sun sets one of the slaves approaches Dalton, telling him there is a messenger for him. A human with bright green eyes and just slightly pointed ears is at the gate, and after thinking about it for a bit Dalton realizes this must be a quarter elf, or the child of a half elf and human. He bows respectfully. "Greetings, I am the grandchild of Seimah. My grandfather is ready for your arrival, I will lead you there whenever you are ready. You may bring with you whomever you wish."
Bjorkus actually gets some decent rest, waking to the sound of the door slamming shut. Craning his neck around he sees the torturer and two muscle slavers leading in three victims; a female strix with fierce eyes, a male halfling who makes ogres look civilized, and a male human who looks like he's about to pee himself. They are each chained against the wall next to each other, then the group leaves, the torturer seeming unhappy and mumbling something under his breath the whole time.
Bjorkus weakly sits up when the newcomers are brought in. The bull considers grabbing something heavy and tearing into his jailers but can still feel the poison coursing through his veins. He was practically gelded without his strength.
The strix stares at Bjorkus a moment, then scans the rest of the room. The halfling gnaws on his knuckle and stares at Bjorkus. The human sits with his head in his hands.
After several minutes, he breaks the silence.
"What did you do to end up here?" he rumbles hoarsely.
He stares hard at the winged woman, trying to get inside her head.
The.
Dalton gives him a once over, nodding approvingly. "One moment, and I will be ready." He headed off to see if Gabriel was about.
Bjorkus illustrates his point by weakly clenching a fist.
”What’s your story?”
The human looks over in surprise and the halfling gives her an approving grin. Bjorkus sees that the halfling's teeth have been filed to points.
Bjorkus flinches, the strix's words echoing his wounded spirit.
"How'd it go down?"
The human gasps in horror at the wound. "By the good grace of Korada, that is a horrible thing to do."
Gabriel had begun to relax and pray in his room, after a couple hours of invigorating practice with the greatsword, when Dalton arrived again. Their earlier conversation had been cut short by one of the servants, a man who looked like a rat somehow. "I am free at the moment. I do not believe Toramin will be receiving word from the healers until later tonight. I would need to know what name you use amongst the slavers, but other then that, I do not think I will have much trouble playing the part of the slave." Gabe had been doing it since he was young, after all.
The bull winces and instinctively moves a hand protectively toward the slab of meat trapped in the ragged leggings he'd been dressed in.
"Korada? He's some kinda monk-god. What's one of his doin' in a s+@&-hole like Akropesh?"
"I've no need of one. A little truth goes a long way. No, let us be off and see what we learn."
"Alright." Gabriel bows his head to the man, straps on his sword and takes up a step behind and to the right of Dalton. Gabriel had never spoken much to Dalton. The older man gave the impression of knowledge and sophistication which, despite Gabe's tendency to avoid judgement based on appearance, reminded him a little too much of the nobles he had once dealt with as a slave child. Now though he was forced to reconsider that initial impression, which had already been fading due to the man's valorous efforts against the mad king.
Though both of them shared a trait few of the others seemed able to claim, it was not their lack of knowledge of their father that Gabe found was changing his opinion of Dalton. The man was not a warrior, not a fighter. He was a powerful magic user perhaps but of the group he was perhaps the most physically vulnerable. And yet here he was, in Akropash, risking his life for the benefit of others.
When they reached the gate, Gabe gave the quarter elf a brief once over, as if searching for weapons on the mans person. The look was not meant to be threatening, simply cautious. Gabe was a slave, but he was a slave in a very dangerous city. As far as he was concerned, it also meant he was protection. Though he had no idea, at this point, how well Dalton could handle himself in a fight, that wasn't the point. He was a visible deterrent to any of the elements of the city that might think to harm the half-elf. His tail slowly shifts back and forth, dragging the pointed looking tip on one half across the ground a little.
Dalton walks back to the grandson with Gabe. "This one needs to learn his place and some manners, so he'll come along for experience. Shall we?"
Gabe's eyes briefly flicker to Dalton, failing to hide his surprise at the man's words, but after a moment he seems to accept it and turns his attention back to the one before them.
The quarter elf is wearing an obsidian dagger at his waist, neither worn openly or hidden, but just visible if you are looking for it. He gives a nod to Dalton. "Indeed, let us be off."
The quarter elf leads Dalton and Gabriel into the northern district, but instead of arriving at a manor they end up at an outdoors fountain in an area of vegetation. Seimah sits in the middle cross legged with his eyes shut, but when the three step into the area he opens his eyes. "Ah good...you made it...come...sit and meditate with me..." The quarter elf moves forward, motioning for Dalton and Gabriel to do the same. He sits cross legged and closes his eyes.
Gabe glances to Dalton to make sure its okay and when he gets the go-ahead he joins the three elvish like people in a familiar yet not so familiar position. He was more used to kneeling himself, but the act of meditating and praying was similar enough, at least with the way Gabe had been taught, that Gabriel had little trouble focusing his mind. For a time at least.
Bjorkus considers his new cellmates. One was a woman, and one of the rare few brave enough to stand against Targ, but she wasn't strong enough to pull it off. The other was a holyman and a healer, in the wrong place at the wrong time and now facing torture and death for giving his gifts too freely. Just two among thousands that would suffer as long as Targ lived.
The bull looks to Four Tooth for his story.
The strix clacks her teeth together and points at the halfling. "He ate one of Targ's slavers."
Bjorkus slumps back down, consumed by his own losses and failure.
“Gerriot” laughs at the boy’s comment. I won’t cause trouble. I’m just looking to rest right now.” I was named after my father. He was a anhkeg driver. I was his helper. Desert elves killed him attacking the caravan. The caravan master tried to sell me into slavery. I escaped. The human boy draws lines in the sand for a few minutes.
”Want to play dots?”
The boy nods at Rilka, then looks excited about a game of dots before shaking his head. "Sorry, I have to do something right now. Delivering a message. Although I have no idea where that drow went..."
”Drow? I saw one earlier walking around...” Gerriot shrugs. ”What does he look like? I could look around too and if I see him come find you.”
"Well he kinda looks like..." the boy almost perfectly describes Lindale. "Yeah, that'd be great if you could. It normally doesn't take me so long to find him, but he just moved here and I can't go inside without being found by the other people in there."
”I was a fool”, he rumbles. ”I defied Targ – spoke out against him in the arena. I thought I could change things and make ‘em better. All it got me is betrayed and crippled.”
The halfling spits at the human. "Stupid, we break out! Big stupid, you poisoned, yes? Come, Four Tooth fix. Four Tooth know poisons. He say name?"
At Four Tooth's comment, Bjorkus lifts himself again with a heroic effort. He climbs down from the table/bed and slowly lumbers toward the halfling.
"Wyrm venom", he explains. "I've never felt anythin' like it. I can barely stand."
The strix looks a little disturbed as well, but doesn't turn away. "As you now understand, it is not wise to speak out against Targ. Your name is only whispered, it is a dangerous thing to do, but it gives hope. It tells slaves to hold out, wait for a better time to revolt where they might actually succeed. The slaves are ready to fight, but they will get slaughtered without organization."
The bull ponders the strix's words. Akropesh's people were ready to take back their city - they just needed someone to rally them. Did he have the strength to try again?
Perhaps he just needed the right friends.
"I know who'd help to organize 'em. Folks with the numbers and resources to make it happen."