Wanted: One Slave
Aug 27, 2009 17:26:31 GMT -5
Post by Darastrix on Aug 27, 2009 17:26:31 GMT -5
Saif walked down the street quickly, chin up and his eyes flicking about the area as he kept a close watch on his surroundings. He was a plain-looking young man, with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, a fair complexion, and an average build. He was dressed well enough that it was evident that he wasn't a slave, though his clothing was rather plain. His dark leather boots had an odd pattern of cutouts winding up both legs, but that was the only sort of embellishment to be seen on his clothing.
Instead of patterned fabric or decorative stitching, Saif was adorned with more jewelry than one would see on most women. Thin bracelets of carved, stained wood and bone, inlaid with abalone and mother of pearl clinked on his wrists as he walked. Carved rings of shell and stone were on his fingers. Around his neck were strands of polished wood and water-smoothed stone beads. His belt was made of woven leather strips with swirling green pattern of glass beads. Not a bit of silver or gold - valuable jewelry - could be seen. Metal was ugly, he thought, suited for ugly things: bribes, blood money, and weaponry.
His hand strayed to his own weapon, a long, thin dagger, as he passed The Dragon's Den, giving the building a wide berth. The owner of the brothel and opium den was a cautious enough man to avoid trying to grab new slaves from the street, but his customers, on the other hand.... Saif didn't relish the thought of being manhandled by someone whose mind was too clouded with narcotics to realize they weren't pawing a brothel slave.
Speaking of slaves.... The young man wrinkled his nose. One could sometimes smell the slave pens before they even came into view. The smell of unwashed bodies and refuse was a perfume he could well do without, but if one wanted a slave, there wasn't much to be done about it. He bypassed the more crowded pens and headed for the slightly fresher, more spacious areas; crowding meant illness and he didn't want to bring something home he'd have to treat before it could be of use.
After looking the place over, he walked up to one of the slavers. "You there," he stated. "I'd like to see your wares. I'm in the market for a personal slave." His first, in fact.
Instead of patterned fabric or decorative stitching, Saif was adorned with more jewelry than one would see on most women. Thin bracelets of carved, stained wood and bone, inlaid with abalone and mother of pearl clinked on his wrists as he walked. Carved rings of shell and stone were on his fingers. Around his neck were strands of polished wood and water-smoothed stone beads. His belt was made of woven leather strips with swirling green pattern of glass beads. Not a bit of silver or gold - valuable jewelry - could be seen. Metal was ugly, he thought, suited for ugly things: bribes, blood money, and weaponry.
His hand strayed to his own weapon, a long, thin dagger, as he passed The Dragon's Den, giving the building a wide berth. The owner of the brothel and opium den was a cautious enough man to avoid trying to grab new slaves from the street, but his customers, on the other hand.... Saif didn't relish the thought of being manhandled by someone whose mind was too clouded with narcotics to realize they weren't pawing a brothel slave.
Speaking of slaves.... The young man wrinkled his nose. One could sometimes smell the slave pens before they even came into view. The smell of unwashed bodies and refuse was a perfume he could well do without, but if one wanted a slave, there wasn't much to be done about it. He bypassed the more crowded pens and headed for the slightly fresher, more spacious areas; crowding meant illness and he didn't want to bring something home he'd have to treat before it could be of use.
After looking the place over, he walked up to one of the slavers. "You there," he stated. "I'd like to see your wares. I'm in the market for a personal slave." His first, in fact.