[quote=@Odin]
As Ketill came back to consciousness, he found himself being dragged through the sand by two figures. Either one of them held on to one of his wrists, while they drug him back to what seemed to be their camp. His vision faded slightly, and he closed his eyes preparing to lose consciousness again. He merely focused on their words. He couldn’t understand them, but perhaps he could hear a single word that he knew, to figure out what would happen. 

<‘’They are always so heavy. How did we get stuck with haul-duty? We don’t even know if this one will make it. Look at the bump on his head – whoever did him did a good job of mashing his face in.’’> 

<‘’Yeah.. seems that way. And while we’re dragging this ugly guy around, they’re having fun with the slaves in the camp. I swear, if I find out Nasir touched that girl I found..’’> 

<‘’Calm down. We’ll just drop this guy off, kill him when we’re given the order, and then we’ll go find your girl.’’> 

Ketill couldn’t understand much of it. He was obviously not well versed in the Sawarim tongue nor was he intending to learn it at any point in his life. He was too old for that, and had too little use for it. Well, that’s what he thought. He also figured that he wished he’d spent more time trying to learn that language. But one word stood out to him. [b]Kill.[/b] He would be killed. At least, that’s what he understood.. and knowing the Sawarim feelings towards Servants and his obvious mark as a Servant, it would be the first thing they’d consider for him.

As they dragged him towards the ‘slave’ area, he simply let them carry on, not resisting or showing signs of life. It would be wasted effort. If only he had a knife – he’d show them the Monarchists would die before capture all the same. Perhaps there would have been some more dignity in suicide than in the cruel death the Sawarim had planned for him. Or perhaps that would’ve been the cowards way out. 

With a sudden thud, he was dropped into the sand. He laid there for a bit, listening to the sounds around him. After a few seconds, he put his hands next to his head, and slowly pushed himself up, blood dropping down from his head. It stained the sand, reminding him precisely what a battlefield would look like, or perhaps ten times worse.

<‘’Seems he’s alive. Let’s leave him for now. Did you bind his legs?’’>

<‘’Of course. There’s always one that tries to run, and it always looks so funny. Let’s hope it’s him. I’d love to see a Servant run for his life.’’>

Ketill continued to push himself up and managed to get himself to sit up, before he would look around and see what had happened. There were plenty of survivors – of course.. they would see to it that people survived their wounds. A dead slave was not worth selling. He looked around for Najla, but found no such luck. He then looked for anyone else he might know. Again, no such luck. 
So he sighed, and looked around, his blood stained hair sticking to his forehead. His head hurt badly, like someone was taking a battering ram to his brain. ‘The Siege of Ketill’s Head.’ That would make for a great poem one day, he thought briefly, before a sharp pain forced him to shake that thought. Humour would be a bad idea right now.. no time for it, nor the pain-resistance. 

He managed to form a slight grin as he looked at the major tent in the center. It was only a matter of time before they sent for him. Among the fifty Broacien men and women around him, he would’ve felt like he could blend in. But for once in his life, the three marks on his head felt more like a curse than a sign of service.

From the tent, a man stepped, holding on to a set of chains. Shortly behind him a blonde woman followed. With his eyesight fuzzy from the blow to his head, he could not quite make out who it was. That was, until she came closer. The slaver guided her and she followed with a bowed head, before she was set down next to Ketill. Only when she sat there, did he recognize her. 

[i]‘’Anne,’’[/i] he said. His tone was remarkably casual for the situation they were in and it seemed to catch Anne off guard. He looked her up and down, and noticed that her clothes were still intact. So, at least she had not been raped. [i]Yet.[/i] One single glance around him would show off just how many camp followers had been captured. They were defenceless and fragile, so it made sense they were the main victim of the slavers when it came to slaves. 

Just to the left of them, not even two meters further, a woman was on her back, her legs spread out as the Sawarim man saw fit to take her. Whereas she might have resisted at first, it seemed she had seen quickly how futile it was, and now merely laid there. Whether she enjoyed it or not was a question Ketill did not dare ask himself. Several more men had already lined up to be next.

[i]‘’Ketill, I thought they killed you,’’[/i] Anne said in a hushed voice, careful not to anger the guards.

[i]‘’So did I. But, rest easy. I know they will come for me soon. Servants don’t live long in the company of Sawarim.’’[/i]

[i]‘’I didn’t mean to say I wanted you to..’’[/i]

[i]‘’I know, but it is the truth. I will be dead by the end of the night. Before morning, my body will be the sole mark of a fight here.’’[/i]

[i]‘’That is.. probably true.’’[/i] Her reply was slow and drawn out – perhaps she had come to the realization that she herself might not live too long either.

[i]‘’Did you see Najla?’’[/i] Ketill then asked, though he realized too late that nobody knew the name Najla. 

[i]‘’Who?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Saina.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Yes, they had brought her inside shortly after I was brought in. I’m not sure what they wanted, but they kept me out of the clutches of.. well, you’ve seen what they’re doing.’’[/i]

Ketill knew they were probably saving her for one of the more important slavers. He decided not to tell her. It would only make the situation worse at this point. 

[i]‘’Did they treat her like they treated you?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Uh..’’[/i] she slowly said, looking back at the scene before her. Slowly she opened her mouth, only to change her mind and think for a moment more. [i]‘’No, they questioned her. It was in her own language, so I didn’t understand. She just mentioned the word ‘Sultan’ and then one of the men said the word ‘Sultana’. That’s about it.’’[/i]

Ketill grinned as he stared at the tent, waiting for the moment some more slavers would arrive. He did not even blink, wanting to see the exact moment they came for him. If they knew Najla was royalty, then surely, they’d kill him for enslaving her. 

[i]‘’I see. They know then.’’[/i]

Anne’s eyes widened slightly as she saw the slaver that held her chain earlier approaching again. It seemed her time, too, had come. [i]‘’Know what, Ketill?’’[/i] 

[i]‘’She’s a niece of the Sultan.’’[/i] 

[i]‘’[b]What?[/b] Why didn’t you say that earlier? Whose idea was it to bring the niece of the Sultan on this expedition? [b]As a slave?[/b]’’[/i]

[i]‘’I only knew the night we left Coedwin, after the Archbishop rescued her from the Commanders’ clutches. If you did not understand why I would die before, then now you know. If they don’t kill me here, the Sultan will make a public display of my death.’’[/i]

His voice was remarkably calm – much like how he’d usually speak to Saina, stern, stoic, giving her orders, speaking like a man. A warm voice but commanding. He’d usually reserved that voice for serious moments, or moments that he didn’t like. Perhaps this was both of those.

[i]‘’That’s..’’[/i] The chain clanked lightly when the slaver grabbed it, pulling it softly. Anne’s head jerked forwards as the chain around her neck was pulled. [i]‘’I.. Ketill! You.. have to do something at least!’’[/i]

Ketill didn’t answer, only looking down finally when he saw two men appear from the tent. First Anne’s time had come, and now his. Shortly he looked at his hands – the blood still marked them. He raised them up in front of his face and put them together, saying a prayer of the Servants. [i]‘’Ketill! Do something! Ask Najla to help us, surely she remembers we saved her from the com-’’[/i] The slaver jerked the chain harder and began pulling the woman away. Ketill did not look up, focussing on his prayer.

[center][color=black][b]‘’Broacien Tessera omni Armatura Fortior. Amen.’’[/b][/color][/center] 

<‘’Get up, you pig.‘’> With a rough grasp at his arms, the two men grabbed him, and pulled him with them. As they pulled him upright he got his footing, and with whatever amount of manoeuvrability the bindings allowed him, he shuffled along. The two dragged him past the women being raped, the men being beaten or humiliated, and into the tent. At least he’d be spared that suffering – though, was it truly lucky to be forced in here instead?

As he was pulled into the tent, the two man dragged him closer to the center and then shoved him forwards, causing Ketill to stumble towards the center of the tent. When he stopped, he stood there and looked around. There were slaves – women, all of them – and slavers. In front of him was a dark skinned slaver, whom was then promptly joined again by the two that had caught him. Ghalid, and some unknown nobody. Of course, it would be Ghalid. The sight of Ghalid caused a slight grin to appear on his face. 

[i]‘’I see you’ve taken great measures to make sure any rumours of honest Sawarim men have been dispelled adequately today, Ghalid.’’[/i]

The backhanded comment about the Sawarim would’ve been sure to anger the Sawarim, if they could’ve understood him. But now, it seemed like only Najla and Ghalid would’ve been able to understand him, and perhaps those that hid their knowledge of the common Broacien tongue.

‘’This is not about my faith, Servant. This is about money… which you will provide us wi-’’ Ghalid attempted to answer, before he was harshly interrupted by the dark skinned individual. Najla was sitting close to him – seemingly enjoying the comfort.

<‘’[b]Silence. I will not have you two speak in this foreign language, when our Sultana is sitting right here.[/b]’’>

Whether the words were meant or not was not clear, but Ketill did not even understand them. His angered look at the dark skinned man explained that much.  <‘’[b]And show some respect for the Sultana. Bow![/b]’’>

Again Ketill did not understand, but the issue was clarified when two guards appeared from behind, grabbing onto his neck and pushing their boots into the backs of his knees, forcing him forwards onto his knees. He caught himself with his hands, looking down slightly as the headache came back, booming in his head carelessly, as if he needed that at the moment. Slowly he’d look up again as a dried line of blood down his forehead became red and wet again, the wound reopening. 

[i]‘’I see you’re taking to the new found luxury well,’’[/i] Ketill said to Najla, his eyes resting on hers as he stared into her very being – or at least attempted to. He felt angry at her for betraying him so easily, for turning her back at him and the others simply to save her own skin. But above that, he felt stupid for not cutting her down earlier when he had the chance. [i]‘’Will you be sharing your cushions with the women that are being raped outside, or is that a pleasure solely reserved for those around us right now, that are to be sent off to the Sultan as his slaves?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Or did you forget who you were, Saina?’’[/i] He purposefully used her slave-name to remind her of what she’d been through so far. He did not wish to change her at this point – he knew it was too late to beg her to help him. No, he wanted to make sure she remembered that [b]he[/b] had been the one that prevented her from getting raped, and that he had been the one that almost lost a finger for her. He had been the one that voted in the chamber of the Hochmeister. He had given her clothes, and a horse. He wanted to make sure she remembered, now, that she owed her life to a Monarchist of all things.

[i]‘’I know I will die. I just ask that you swing the sword yourself Saina.’’[/i]

Again, the dark-skinned slaver interrupted him. <‘’Speak in our language, you Broacien pigfaced fool!’’> The man rose from his seating and stepped closer, down some wooden steps of the raised platform he sat on, towards Ketill. He put his hands in his side and looked at Ketill, who must’ve looked quite bruised at the moment. 

Bruised, beaten, near-death, and possibly broken. But he did not look scared, nor did he look like he’d give up. 

Gathering some of the bloody saliva in his mouth, Ketill spat out the only Sawarim insult he knew. <[i]‘’Your father fucked a horse to conceive you, you horse-fucker.’’[/i]> Following his insult, he spat his bloody spit at the man, having it land on his pants. Ketill grinned victoriously, as the two guards grabbed his shoulders and pressed their blades against his neck. They would not pressure him, but rather, they would feel him pressing himself into the blades edge, as if he were trying to cut himself. 

[i]‘’Do it then!’’[/i] he bellowed, his strength and power raging through his voice. Despite how bloodied he’d looked, he still made a strong impression, as if he could jump up at any moment and begin beating people. But the dark skinned slaver looked back at Najla, offering her a questioning look. 

<[i]‘’Sultana, what should we do with this Broacien pig?’’[/i]>

Ketill smiled eerily, looking at Najla with weary eyes. The blood streamed down from his head now, smearing itself over his nose and cheeks, and messing up his vision as it came into his eyes. 

[i]‘’Tell him I raped you, so that he will kill me quickly. Tell him I was not a good man. Tell him I let others rape you, and that I sold you to other men. Tell him that I beat you, like a whore. All of these things I never did, because I am a good man. But you have the power, ‘o Sultana’. Show me how quickly you turn your back on those that help you. That is what you’ll do, so at least offer me a swift death, like I have offered you. Or did you forget about that?’’[/i]



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