Myrundar's Trip (Open RP)
Posted: Tue Oct 02, 2007 1:08 am
'Myrundar! Myrundar, where the hell are ya?!' Echoed a loud yell.
'By the Gods as my witness, if'n I don't find ya im'a hafta give ya a beating!'
From the near corner came strolling, quite casually, a tall elven boy. His golden hair flowed from his head down to the middle of his back.
His eyes were a cool ocean blue and almond shaped.
His skin was a deep tan color, brought on from many days working in the heat of the sun.
On his left arm was, quite cruelly, branded a name. 'Eeban.' The boy's master.
'Here I am, master.' Said Myrundar in a soft voice.
'Here's where'n ya better stay! 'Fore I hafta be gettin' my club to yer back boy!' Eeban growled.
'Yes, master.' Myrundar shot back in a soft, yet obviously unthreatened voice.
With that Eeban grabbed a shovel and went back to work harvesting sand from the hot, dry, desert.
Myrundar walked a few feet away from where Eeban was working and pulled a couple buckets from a kart they'd brought.
He sat them next to Eeban and grabbed another shovel sat at his feet. He began to work.
Hours passed by and the sun had hidden itself behind the mountains, where just enough light hit the sand to see.
Though by this time, Eeban had already placed his shovel in the kart and taken to the large bottle of dwarven brew he'd stashed in a black bottle.
Myrundar, seeing this, began to work more slowly.
As time passed, the dwarven brew slowly but steadily began to disappear from the bottle until none remained.
In a drunken swagger Eeban stood, and fell to the ground. Passed out in the cool desert sand.
Myrundar simply chuckled.
He packed up the shovels and buckets, placing them into the kart and walked off.
He'd made this same trip through the desert many times, so he knew his way around.
He'd decided that this was enough, he was leaving this place. Leaving the life of a slave, to a place where he could be what he wanted to be and do what he wanted to do.
More time passed, and it seemed as if he'd been walking forever. Yet he didn't stop.
He continued on, under the light of the moon.
The wind blew, and the cool air began to become colder and colder.
He was prepared though, for he'd brought along a woolen made shirt, which he swapped for.
As the sun began to peek out from behind the mountains to his east, he smiled and took off his shirt.
He loved the feeling of the sun.
He'd been walking all night, yet he was not fatigued, nor showed any signs of becoming fatigued.
He simply continued on, eventually reaching a small town.
The town in which he lived.
He entered in through the side and made his way down the main, dirt covered road.
He passed weaponsmiths, armoursmiths, jewelers, and the ole pub.
As he approached the pub he turned to his left and continued down an alleyway until he reached a small hovel of a home.
It wasn't very big. The outside was in great disrepair, rotting wood, broken stairs, no windows. But it was home to him.
He entered through the door, knowing nobody would be there, and grabbed what little possessions he had.
He tucked them all within a small bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and set out.
He headed west, towards the docks. It wasn't a very far walk, and he'd gone there often to fish for dinner.
As he was arriving he was stopped by a man in an elegant red suit. He tilted his head to the side, examining Myrundar's appearance.
'Boy, where be'n yer master eh?' He asked in a, high pitched voice, for a man.
'My master? My master is back at the home. He's instructed me to board a ship and set out to sea. He requests I take a letter, in person, to a friend of his. An island it be going to, just off the mainland here.' Myrundar responded.
'Oye that be so,' He began, 'How can I be certain ye ain' be playin' no tricks on me?' He asked, eyebrows arched.
Myrundar simply lifted the sleeves of his ragged shirt, (He'd put one back on before entering town,) and showed him the branding in his left arm.
'I can't possibly escape to anywhere, people will know I've got a master, and they'll send me back I tell ya.' He grinned at the man.
The man simply nodded and sent him on towards the boats.
His plan had worked. Myrundar was going to a place where he 'knew' slavery wasn't enforced and nobody would know what the brand meant.
He boarded a ship, and set sail.
It seemed as if an eternity had passed though. The ship's conditions were not of Myrundar's liking... Nor anyone else's for that matter.
But at least he was leaving, leaving his old life behind.
And he'd done it without being caught or beaten.
At last, he came upon land. The harbour, was smaller than the one he'd sailed from, and seemed to be to the south of the island. But it didn't matter. Myrundar had made it, made it to the place he'd been witing for.
Gobaith.
'By the Gods as my witness, if'n I don't find ya im'a hafta give ya a beating!'
From the near corner came strolling, quite casually, a tall elven boy. His golden hair flowed from his head down to the middle of his back.
His eyes were a cool ocean blue and almond shaped.
His skin was a deep tan color, brought on from many days working in the heat of the sun.
On his left arm was, quite cruelly, branded a name. 'Eeban.' The boy's master.
'Here I am, master.' Said Myrundar in a soft voice.
'Here's where'n ya better stay! 'Fore I hafta be gettin' my club to yer back boy!' Eeban growled.
'Yes, master.' Myrundar shot back in a soft, yet obviously unthreatened voice.
With that Eeban grabbed a shovel and went back to work harvesting sand from the hot, dry, desert.
Myrundar walked a few feet away from where Eeban was working and pulled a couple buckets from a kart they'd brought.
He sat them next to Eeban and grabbed another shovel sat at his feet. He began to work.
Hours passed by and the sun had hidden itself behind the mountains, where just enough light hit the sand to see.
Though by this time, Eeban had already placed his shovel in the kart and taken to the large bottle of dwarven brew he'd stashed in a black bottle.
Myrundar, seeing this, began to work more slowly.
As time passed, the dwarven brew slowly but steadily began to disappear from the bottle until none remained.
In a drunken swagger Eeban stood, and fell to the ground. Passed out in the cool desert sand.
Myrundar simply chuckled.
He packed up the shovels and buckets, placing them into the kart and walked off.
He'd made this same trip through the desert many times, so he knew his way around.
He'd decided that this was enough, he was leaving this place. Leaving the life of a slave, to a place where he could be what he wanted to be and do what he wanted to do.
More time passed, and it seemed as if he'd been walking forever. Yet he didn't stop.
He continued on, under the light of the moon.
The wind blew, and the cool air began to become colder and colder.
He was prepared though, for he'd brought along a woolen made shirt, which he swapped for.
As the sun began to peek out from behind the mountains to his east, he smiled and took off his shirt.
He loved the feeling of the sun.
He'd been walking all night, yet he was not fatigued, nor showed any signs of becoming fatigued.
He simply continued on, eventually reaching a small town.
The town in which he lived.
He entered in through the side and made his way down the main, dirt covered road.
He passed weaponsmiths, armoursmiths, jewelers, and the ole pub.
As he approached the pub he turned to his left and continued down an alleyway until he reached a small hovel of a home.
It wasn't very big. The outside was in great disrepair, rotting wood, broken stairs, no windows. But it was home to him.
He entered through the door, knowing nobody would be there, and grabbed what little possessions he had.
He tucked them all within a small bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and set out.
He headed west, towards the docks. It wasn't a very far walk, and he'd gone there often to fish for dinner.
As he was arriving he was stopped by a man in an elegant red suit. He tilted his head to the side, examining Myrundar's appearance.
'Boy, where be'n yer master eh?' He asked in a, high pitched voice, for a man.
'My master? My master is back at the home. He's instructed me to board a ship and set out to sea. He requests I take a letter, in person, to a friend of his. An island it be going to, just off the mainland here.' Myrundar responded.
'Oye that be so,' He began, 'How can I be certain ye ain' be playin' no tricks on me?' He asked, eyebrows arched.
Myrundar simply lifted the sleeves of his ragged shirt, (He'd put one back on before entering town,) and showed him the branding in his left arm.
'I can't possibly escape to anywhere, people will know I've got a master, and they'll send me back I tell ya.' He grinned at the man.
The man simply nodded and sent him on towards the boats.
His plan had worked. Myrundar was going to a place where he 'knew' slavery wasn't enforced and nobody would know what the brand meant.
He boarded a ship, and set sail.
It seemed as if an eternity had passed though. The ship's conditions were not of Myrundar's liking... Nor anyone else's for that matter.
But at least he was leaving, leaving his old life behind.
And he'd done it without being caught or beaten.
At last, he came upon land. The harbour, was smaller than the one he'd sailed from, and seemed to be to the south of the island. But it didn't matter. Myrundar had made it, made it to the place he'd been witing for.
Gobaith.