Empire of Slavery

It is said, that the city of Jahærnén is the greatest and most magnificent in the civilised world, which stretches from the icy tundra of the Tyarnenk; the Barbarians of the Norde, to the storm stricken oceans of the Suth, habited by ruthless pirates and great monsters of the deep. East, the boundaries claimed by Jahærnén are the mountains of Kzelesk, jagged teeth that reach to the roof of this world, where mighty Sages and Priests commune with the very Gods themselves. To the Wésde, are the windswept sandy dunes of the merciless desert of Achiæbann.

However, it is also said that Jahærnén is the epitome of evil and cruelty. Corrupted dealings, countless bribes and a whole mercantile scene built upon the trafficking of human lives, have a perfectly acceptable place alongside the golden palaces and jewel encrusted roofs of glorious temples.

Slaves are imported and traded all over the Empiré, but nowhere more so than the capital, Jahærnén. It is reputed that the Zóltan himself, may the Gods curse his black soul, has well over eight hundred slaves in each of his fourteen palaces. Most of the Freemen of the Empiré believe in abusing their powers; cruel pitiless Dukes and Barones, who follow the Zóltan's suit, and abuse countless slaves to their death. This is a city, a land, built on slavery.

Yet there are still some who believe in upholding decency and goodness for these unfortunate incarcerated individuals.

I have seen both sides of this ceaseless argument, and what follows is merely my place, initially an insignificant piece of the grand picture, but an element of it nonetheless.

"A human life has no price in gold"

Sage Almenias Tulor

As a young boy in a giant city, I grew up leading a rich and eventful life. Most of my days I spent in the company of two other children, Yelys and Thero. Thero and I always had an uneasy footing between us, and now looking back on it, it was a petty young male rivalry, both of us competing for the fleeting attentions of Yelys. They were both older than me, and therefore Thero posed a minor threat to me. He only saw me as an immature irritating child, but as he was my only male role model at the time, I admit I must have got on his nerves.

My friendly, happy relationship with Yelys was a complete contrast to this, and she was probably the only thing that kept our small group together in this vast, frightening city life.

We would while away the long hours scrounging scraps of food from the many different stalls in the Market area. The tantalising smells enticed us wherever we went, with spicy pork wraps from Kali'byan, baby pomla apples from the Lirien archipelagos, and smoky drying racks smothered with strips of meats in varying degrees of preserve.

Our other pastimes included, amongst others, throwing stones at the many mangy cats of the city, or dashing across the flat mud rooftops and leaping over the many canals that crisscrossed the entire city. This was of course done whilst trying to outrun our latest inevitable acquisition in "angry stall-keeper".

"Oi you little bastard!", or "Get back here you little shit!" were the typical accompaniment to a panting, slovenly excuse for a man, struggling to keep pace on his obese legs, as we darted down the constricted alleyways, splitting up and always managing to locate each other again.

These chases sometimes ended with us as the victors, and the stolen food became the spoils of the battle, a well earned reward. We would squat in a boarded up doorway, and ration out the victuals, each of us with an equal share.

"Hey Jerynn, f'try some o' this pie!" Thero mumbled in my direction. This poor youth had lost his father, who had left to join the Empirical Army. The man had been reported as butchered in the mountains, a hobgoblin arrow through his heart, and most of the rest of him gnawed off by starving animals, or worse. This had left their family destitute, forced to live on the streets. All his siblings were dead within a year, either through starvation or the Black Fever. Thero had pulled through, but now entering his teenage years, he was left a broken child, having to look after his ailing mother.

When I was offered pie by him, I knew that he was in a good mood, and he would slap me on the back and congratulate me, and I would bask in his short lived admiration.

But as I said, these moments were rare, and more often than not, our chases would end with me nearly being caught, and then, all his anger would be vented on me. Life was so unfair, but he only ranted on, shoving and kicking me on occasions.

"You stupid little turd! If you was to get nabbed and you was t' rat us in, I would beat tu' shit out o' you, you son of a whore!". In between each syllable he would lash out viciously with his sandaled foot, striking me on my shins and ankles, and causing painful red welts to appear.

This was one of the worst such occurrences, and at these times Yelys would step in, angry at first, but gradually calming him, and making him see reason.

"Thero! Leave 'im alone! He's just a kid, he can' help bein' smaller an' slower than us.

And she would lead him out of my sight into a small recessed alley, and they would emerge a while later. Thero would be all smiles and laughter again, but his volatile demeanour was always at the back of my mind…

- - - - -

A biting cold wind howled down the many winding alleys and backstreets of the City. "Winter's come early.." nattered the old wives, and the greedy shopkeepers were all abuzz: "Stock up on yer larder an' food stores, ladies! 'Taters, mushrooms and salted meats all here!"

And in among this confusion, the chaos of a bustley packed street, walked a lone figure. He did not overly stand out from the crowd, only in that he seemed to be the only one with a purpose. Furtive goblin slaves unthinkingly scampered out of range of his striding black boots. His eyes were invisible beneath his deep vacuous cloak, but all who fell underneath this invisible gaze could still feel something. A prickly sensation of intense curiosity, but cold indifference, swamped the people's minds as he passed them by. For a few moments after his passage, they were left silent, or with jealous whispering and glances exchanged. Yes, this was a man of great power, no ordinary passer by.

"Spare a coin for a poor soul, good shir?" The man stared down contemptuously at this snivelling beggar, and made a mental note to have all of them in this vicinity of Jahærnén carted away for more slaver profits.

He continued down the winding lane, only to stop quite suddenly at a shadowy turnoff. Night was falling all over the city, the deep velvet skies turning darker by the minute, as the great god of the stars prepared to unravel his black silken map, dotted with silver inlay. A quick glance at a shopkeeper and punter caused a row to suddenly fire up.

"3 silvers?! 3 silvers for a fucking piece of dry fish? It's worth 5 coppers at the most!"

In the resulting cufuffle, our individual relieved himself from the crowd, and continued, but down the narrower, empty alley. A brief pause at a door, followed by three knocks, and he slipped in, unnoticed.

Peeling away from the crowd, a shadowy figure followed the same trail…

- - - - -

"Let the meeting commence!" Roared the resplendent half-ogre.

Gathered round the long carved table were some of the most powerful people in Jahærnén: The Captain of the Royal Guard, the Lord of the Merchant House, the Zóltan's Vizier, several more prominent merchants, and our mysterious individual. Unhooded now, his head boasted a powerful jawline, handsome chiselled features, and a smooth shaved crown. But his eyes were different; deep and relentless, they radiated an unsettling, unearthly power. This man had seen things not from this world. From his face he was but 25, but his eyes had thousands of years behind them. Ancient, unforgiving and all-seeing.

The discussion revolved around petty money-and-holdings disputes between the merchants. Leaning back in his chair, the mysterious figure appeared bored. He was only here as the Vizier's support, to back up his arguments, and use forceful "suggestions" if necessary.

Suddenly he shifted up in his chair, perceptive eyes jumping from individual to individual. He had sensed something; his attunement to ancient magics felt the familiar flicker of energy being pulled into the Material Plane. Mentally preparing a spell of his own, he jumped up, knocking over his chair with a crash, then ducked under the table as the door splintered apart in an immense explosion. The defenceless merchants jumped, and ran to take cover in the corner of the room, behind several crates.

Three black darts shot from the smoke enframed doorway, each finding a mark in someone. Two merchants went down mid-flight, gargling through the new holes in their necks. The half-ogre, ripping the arrow from his bulging shoulders, heaved his axe from his back and sent it spinning through the doorway. A moment later, there was a giant sword in his hands, while the Vizier prepared energy for a spell of his own.

Within seconds, the smoke began to clear, and through the doorway strode the attacker. He ducked to avoid the two fiery spells shot at him, and then grinned maniacally as he leapt over the table, whipping out a long thin dagger. Tumbling into a crouch, he lunged backhandedly, and viciously stabbed the half ogre through the knee. Dancing around him, he lazily moved out of the way of the sword that nearly smashed his head in. Three more successive stabs and the beast fell to his knees, roaring in pain. The invader cartwheeled back over the table, while his blade seemed to magically increase in size, becoming the length of a sword. His eyes fell on the Vizier. Time to deal with the merchants later.

The Vizier's sword flashed out, but the assassin deftly flicked aside both his useless blows, only to mercilessly plunge his sword through his undefended chest. The Vizier gasped, and his jewel encrusted rapier clattered on the cold slabs. Four spinning disks ended the lives of the remaining merchants, and the assassin glanced around for the final kill, the second mage. But he had vanished. Frowning, he threw the table on its side, but the wizard was nowhere to be seen.

He shrugged, and then nonchalantly proceeded to part the former owners of their purses and other valuables. This job would pay off well; they would no longer be thought of as just a crack in the stoneworks…