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[center][h2]Clarimonde Sauerstein[/h2]
[sub]Slave Auction in Venedig, Before the Attack[/sub][/center]
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[@Stitches][@Letter Bee]
The former nobles stood behind the silk curtains of the wooden stage, surrounded by silk, flesh, perfume, and chains. Roaring jeers and frantic bids rose from the crowd of the auction, commoners and aristocrats alike come to gawk at how the mighty had fallen, vendors selling refreshments to those with coin to spare. Behind the curtain, expressions were mixed. Some were proud, some afraid, a few trying to comfort their children. It was an interesting mix of humanity, the group held quiet by the guards around them. 

Of particular note was one young woman, the manacles at her wrists and ankles inscribed with indecipherable iconography. Her long, black hair dangled loose behind her stout, scarred body as she stared down her nose at the man silently weeping in front of her. He was a large man, square of jaw and well-muscled. Under less demeaning circumstances, she would have found him quite attractive. As things stood, however, his bulk placed the woman squarely in the shade as his sobbing wrattled the chains between them. Though he faced away from her, she hoped he could feel her disdain. Clarimonde was afraid. She would have to have been a lunatic not to be. But if nothing else, their blood demanded dignity. If nothing else, they could bring no shame to their Houses. He disgusted her.

After the initial sale of the Edenweiss family, they trotted out the next dozen or so, Clarimonde with them. Her shoulders were square, her back ramrod straight as she marched out, naked as the day she was born. The crowd jeered and the auctioneer began to rattle off the attributes of those to be sold, Clarimonde remembering her mother's earliest lessons from her childhood in Steinholme. Those were happier days, but now her mother was dead and Steinholme had fallen. One of these would be corrected, with time. 
 
She stared into the sky, keeping her eyes unfocused on the crowd, the aristocrats, the commoners. Distantly, she heard the auctioneer issuing prices, proofs of purchase for the nobles, though she paid them no heed. She had appearances to keep up... but it was a lovely day. Her world had crumbled around her. She was to be a slave. But no one could take the breeze away from her in this instant. No one could rip away the sun and kill the sky, so for now she breathed in the light on her skin and the vivid blue above her as she stood silent, waiting for her fate.

Soon, the auctioneer had come to her, the others led off to their new owners. The muscled man had been sold for a paltry sum, his value undermined by the fact that he blubbered like an infant. A small part of her wondered what the crowd would deem her worth. Mentally removed from the situation, she was determined that she would be sold for substantially more, though perhaps not quite as much as the high-profile Edenweiss. Soon, however, her eyes flew open as the booming baritone of the auctioneer jostled her from her reverie, her face a mask of carved marble.

"Here, Lords and Ladies, stands Clarimonde Sauerstein, age 24! With the rest of her family dead or unavailable for purchase, she's become a bit of a collector's item! As you can see from the scars here, here, and here, she formerly kept occupied as a field medic for the Rebellion..." he paused, allowing the crowd a moment to jeer at her loyalties. Clarimonde stood unflinching as the corpulent man needled at her old wounds, gesturing grandly for his audience. They were eating out of his hand. "But despite her political flaws, she remains well-educated in medicine, court manners, and as a woman after my own heart, High magic! Not to worry, that's what our manacles are for, Ladies and gentlemen, no accidents today! All the same, she comes from a sturdy stock, good for working, not bad looking, but ssstubborn as an ass! So let me ask you, beloved audience, who here has the confidence and coin to break the shrew?!"