The Slave Wars Pt.1
 

Video: “Cold"
By: Jorge Mendez (Sad Piano & Violin Instrumental)

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Story Prelude Part 2 :
*~*~(This is a segmented chapter of history that happened in the slavers’ war of Tevinter. The battle itself reached the outskirts of Nevarra lands thus explains why this was posted here, and from here it is mostly viewed from Tempest’s point of view.)*~*~



The fire sizzled and cracked over the burning logs once it reached the dried wood of the makeshift center. If there was one thing Lasher knew the best, it was how to build a fire on top of piles of snow. Tempest did have to give him credit for that.

The area had to be dry, which required damp dirt for the bottom, stones around the fire itself to keep as much snow from melting into water and seeping in between the cracks to put it out, and of course piles upon piles of dry wood and leaves to burn. Though most of the trees had too much sap in them to really catch into flames, it took a little while before they could begin to burn properly.

Tempest was staring back down at his bandaged hand from where he injured himself for the sake of the battle. The wound itself was clotted up and stiff. Every time he slowly attempted to move it, a stinging pain centered near the main artery of his hand. He had almost cut too deep this time, and he knew it, but the cold weather was proving to be a challenge for his power.

Lasher was sitting on the other side of the fire, watching Tempest seemingly sulk over his problems. The redhead though; never seemed as bothered by the present tasks, or even his own injuries. He hardly had any this time anyway. Besides, now that they were back at the camp, they were able to finally relax. He could even swig down a few drinks and let another slaver guard the tents for a while.

“Does it hurt?” He finally asked before tilting the bottle of alcohol to his lips.

Tempest looked up at the sound of Lasher’s voice and his eyebrows lifted in a state of disbelief and annoyance. “... ...Yes. It hurts.”

Lasher made an audible grunt after swallowing down a few gulps of his liquid and then lowered the bottle to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “You need to stop thinking about it with that kind of attitude. Embrace the feeling. Slowly; if you have to, at first.”

“I’m not like you... Sometimes pain is pain. That’s how I feel it.” Tempest shook his head and looked back at his hand again.

“You wouldn’t have to if you’d take my advice...” Lasher mentioned and then moved to stand up. He walked towards the sack of their remaining supplies and grabbed another flask before turning and heading closer to Tempest. “If it’s that bad of a problem, then why don’t you just heal it?”


“I’m not that good at healing...” Tempest found himself admitting openly. He then lifted his head and watched as Lasher walked towards him and handed a flask of liquor to him. Reaching up with his clean hand, he accepted the offer and lowered it back to his lap. “The only healing spells I know would require blood. If I bleed out for someone else. That would just make them a thrall. If I need to heal myself then others must bleed for me. Alchemy is my only safe option... and out here in the snow, there aren’t many resources left.”


“Well, that’s reassuring for battle...!” Lasher added almost in his cheery tone again and took another sip of his liquor before walking back to his spot by the fire to sit down. “At least the snow stopped falling for now. You may be able to still find things for salves if you look hard enough. Or, hell, start using the dead Trevis soldiers more often.”


“True... But I may as well heal normally at that rate. I’m not about to dig through the snow for any materials that may or may not be already withered from the weather. It’s just about as likely as coming across more enemies to fight right now…” Tempest continued and turned his attention briefly towards taking a sip from his given flask. The liquid was warm and it burned down his throat like fire, but the inner fire felt good against the cold.


“Fair enough.” Lasher answered and leaned back against his resting spot against the logs behind him; using the pile as a backrest.

Tempest looked from his flask to look back at Lasher once more. He paused a moment, as if he was going to move towards taking another drink, but he hesitated. Resting his flask against his knee, he tilted his head to one side and watched Lasher a bit more. “You said you had seen an elf scalp someone. Is that something common out of the dailish?”

“Not really, but I wouldn’t put it past them.” Lasher answered looked back towards him from between the flames. His eyes had dropped though and he looked back towards the fire. “I did see it happen... Though I’m sure the knife ear was out of his head too.”

“So, he was mentally unstable.” Tempest nodded as if coming to the conclusion on his own.

Lasher scoffed at the answer and looked away. “He was probably just driven from rage. Rage is a powerful thing.”

“You can’t imagine the sight of that much hatred.” The redhead said as his words lightly trailed off afterwards, as if he was nearly lost in a memory. “You’d have to actually see it in someone’s eyes... And you can’t imagine the kind of anger it must have took to grab a fist full of hair, jerking that person’s head back and sliding a dull shiv across the forehead.”

The mage lowered his head slightly but his eyes remained to study the man as he continued a rather unsettling tale.

“No matter how sharp a blade is, at that close of a range, there would still be a struggle... Especially while the victim is still alive. They would have had to have been pinned down with a lot of force.” Lasher turned his head back towards Tempest as he explained more. “It couldn’t be a solid, single motion to finish the deed either. It takes a number of times to complete it; sawing, pulling and slicing until the pearly white bone of the skull glistens into view. A lot of hatred and a lot of force...”


“Who was it?” Tempest caught himself asking.


Lasher rocked his head against the logs another time before taking another drink. “My younger sister. Clarisa.”


Blue eyes darted away as Tempest tried to avert his gaze elsewhere. He started to lift his flask and speak softly just before taking another drink. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She probably deserved it.” Lasher rolled his eyes and snorted some at the sympathy in his direction. “She was always a snake in the grass... Did anything she could to get me or the slaves beaten. She did bloodmagic like you, but she was more ...discrete... about it.”


Tempest tilted the flask up for a final drink and then placed the bottle back into the snow beneath him. He remained somewhat comfortably perched on a rock, where he could remove his boots and for the moment allow his feet to dry. After all the walking in the snow, he wouldn’t want to catch Gang Green or Water-locked conditions. Having the skin wet for long periods of time and trapped within a moisture contained environment was dangerous to the health. He would have rather dealt with the cold briefly before allowing easy infections or poisons.

“I just meant...” He started to say and then wondered at what he was trying to explain. After shaking his head some, Tempest continued, “I mean I see now why ...you have such venom against elves.”

Lasher’s legs swung against the woodpile he was sitting on and while his back remained nestled in his wood pile from behind. He looked more like a viper, resting his ‘tail’ against a well-secured wooden nest. Rolling his eyes some at the statement before taking another drink, he lowered the flask down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Nah. I hate every-f***ing-one and every-f***ing-thing, you know that.” He answered promptly retorted and moved the flask towards his lap. “It’s my job; and I don’t discriminate, I tolerate.”

“Is that what you call it?” Tempest asked in a bit surprise; finding that he was learning more about this person every time.

The redhead looked back at him and smiled some before looking towards the holding cages that the other elves were imprisoned in. The tarp was pulled down to keep them protected from the cold. His auburn eyes continued to stare towards the direction of the built cage as he started to speak again.

“We are slavers, Tempest. We’re not their friends. We are to give protection to their basics of needs, and to show authority where it needs to be shown. Sometimes the balance is lost. Sometimes we tend to do one action more than the other, but that’s because we are paid to train them and sell them. Nothing else. We are hired to show them that ‘slaves are property.’ They belong to someone, and if they don’t realize it or accept it, they will revolt against it... and lives will be lost either way because of it.”


“So, you believe in this? ...For the good of their sake or for the Magisters? Or the Nobles?” Tempest asked in disbelief.


Lasher shrugged some and looked back towards him again. “Look. It’s just how things are run around here. You can’t expect it to change overnight, and we’re not paid to change it overnight.”


“I could understand it a little better if the people intentionally sold themselves into slavery,” Tempest started to argue and shrugged his shoulders some in the process, “...but these are dailish. I may not know much about them, but surely they’d take more pride in themselves as opposed to the city elves of where I’m from.”

“And I’m assuming you can clearly tell the difference between the two? Half of your precious city elves are the f***ing dailish. Sh*t! They at least try to be.” Lasher sighed tiredly looked back towards the fire again, “It’s as I said... sometimes things get knocked out of balance. That’s an issue you should be arguing with your damn Nobleman about, but I’d know better than to ask mine any questions. I just do my job and keep my mouth shut.”

“No you don’t.” Tempest smirked some in response. “You’re the loudest damn Nessum ‘soldier’ I’ve ever come across.”

“And you’re the softest f***ing Caimen Brea ‘soldier’ I’ve come across!” Lasher retorted with an equal expression. “You’re so f***ing green the trees envy you! How the Trevis f***ers have not have killed you yet, I wonder...”

“Whatever it is, it’s probably for the same reason why they haven’t killed you.” Tempest answered, earning a laugh from the other afterwards.

“I think I can drink to that.” Lasher remarked and lifted his flask again.

“Tempest, get your ‘arse’ over there to the cages and keep watch. It’s your turn.” Oatis called as he started to approach them from the tents.

“Oh, look at the big man spouting orders... Guess I better hurry.” Tempest remarked brightly as he started to lean forward as he wobbly reached for his boots to pull back on and tie.

He was hoping to let his feet dry for a little longer, but it didn’t seem that he was going to get the chance just yet. stood back up to his feet once more. He smiled brightly towards Oatis and began to walk towards the direction he was given. As he passed him though, the mage kept quiet after that. He could hear the annoyed grunt Oatis had given which had only been his reward for the moment. Tempest could keep his smile for that.


He walked over to the cages and pulled back the tarp to check the elves that were still huddled on the wooden planks of the cells that the slavers had kept for them. They were all seeking warmth and hugging each other to fend off the cold. Most of their bodies were covered with feathers, leathers, and mixtures of furs, but their frames were practically skin and bones. Tempest didn’t know much about the dailish at all; he was only going with assumptions of what he already saw.

Still. He couldn’t fully grasp how Lasher could see them as a threat. Surely the one that killed Lasher’s sister was one-of course-but the ones they had near them now, appeared too brittle to him. They looked more capable of shattering themselves before causing damage to anyone else. There was hardly any muscle to them mainly because they were not warrior elves; and most were women who probably had spent their lives as ‘homemakers’ for the hunters within their tribe.

Dozens of eyes looked at him as they pressed themselves against the walls of their confinements. They were the eyes of fear and hatred; and so many. They seemed to have wanted to be as far away from him as they possibly could. They feared him, and Tempest felt ashamed. He looked towards the one elf woman, who he remembered was taken by Oatis during his ‘initiation’ from the night before. Even she had given him that same look, as if he was no better. She was shaking from in between two smaller-framed male elves, and Tempest couldn’t tell if it was from fear or if it was because of the cold.

His blue eyes darted away some as his shoulders slid the bearskin from his back. Tempest started to roll up the fur and slowly extended his arm out from between the stripped logs of their cell. His gaze met the shivering woman’s in return as he stood there and waited.

“Go on. Take it...” He gestured and found that his waiting was only answered with more silence and stagnation. Tempest racked his tongue lightly across his chapped lips and he started to look towards the larger huddled elves afterwards. “....Blast it... You probably don’t understand me after all. Do you?”

The elf woman then gently pushed herself from between the two male elves and walked closer towards Tempest. Her approach was timid, but daring enough to accept the offer. As she slowly lifted the bearskin from his hands, she saw the clotted injury from where the mage had slashed open the wound. There was a hint of knowledge in her eyes as she cradled her hand underneath his in return. Tucking the rolled bearskin under one arm, the elf woman clasped her other hand over his hand completely.

Tempest was a little uncertain to what she was doing. He had the first instinct to tug his hand away, but his elbow had seemed to be reluctant from following his desired command. Surprise started to shimmer in his eyes when he looked down to see her hands beginning to glow a silver colored light. Soon afterwards, his own hand started to reflect the same colored aura. Once the glow had dimmed and the elf woman released her grasp from him, Tempest carefully lifted his hand back to his face to see where the injury once was-had now been healed. He stretched his hand some, flexing and then fisting his hand gently as though to test if there was any more pain. No pain. The elf woman had successfully given him a healing spell to ease him of his injury! It was not entirely needed, nor necessary for Tempest, but it was surprising.


Tempest turned his hand to show her the healed palm and clumsily started to bow his head. He didn’t know the term to properly use, but he did wish to show his gratitude to her. So, his words fumbled along with his shied actions. “Tha-Thank you... Thank-”

“Ma serannas.” The elf woman smiled a little and bowed her head low.

Tempest paused some and retracted his arm slowly from cage as he looked at her. He wasn’t certain, but he thought perhaps she was trying to welcome him somehow. “Ma... ser....?”

The woman lifted her head again, keeping a small smile and brought the fur cloak back into both of her hands. She then bowed once more and repeated her phrase. “Ma serannas.”

“Ma serannas... ‘Thank you’...?” Tempest started to question and then once he understood he smiled a little in return. “’Thank you.’ That’s it, isn’t it? Ma serannas.”

“Tempest!” Lasher hollered from the campfire once he saw the mage facing the cage for a moment too long. “What in Dumat’s hairy armpits have I told you about making friends? You’re going to freeze them if you keep that cover off them, you flaming blighter! Close it, now!”

Tempest glanced back over his shoulder from the shout and quickly did a double take towards the elf woman again. He lowered his head some apologetically and eased back out of the tarp to close the flap away from the colder air outside of its protection.