The harsh and unyielding sun swept over the dry and barren desert that made up Tanaris, enveloping everything and anything in its path with its strong rays. The air stood stiff and still, the lack of a relieving breeze or gust of wind only causing the uncomfortable heat to increase all the worse. The pristine white sands were kept and unmolested; though dunes could be spotted in the distance giving evidence that an uncommon draft did occur. Scorpions and feral desert canines prowled the scorching sands, either in search of their next meal or a place to find reprise from the cruel sun. The unobstructed and clear sky was void of any clouds or reason to shield the rays, the bright blue sky nicely accenting the looming sun. Though nomadic tribes made up of trolls roamed around the harsh desert lands, they were rarely spotted by those less experienced in the ways of surviving the barren lands. Well-versed at concealing their location, such tribes were difficult to locate; though those that didn't call Tanaris home weren't inclined to test their skills against the nomads. Instead, visitors or temporary residents resided in the sparse towns and settlements that attempted to create a livable environment in the unkind atmosphere. Such places were easily countable on a single hand; their rate of activity typically less reserved and bare. However, a temporary settlement nestled amongst the mountain ridge was quite the opposite.
Void of any permanent structures or buildings, the settlement consisted of several pitched tents atop the hot sands. Their thick canvas sides showing wear from the elements of the harsh desert weather, the line of tents sat concealed behind an elevated and wooden planked stage. The large structure was the focal of point of both those visiting the settlement and those spending an extended amount of time in the area. Below the stage were makeshift wooden benches, constructed of warped planks of wood resting on chunks of unevenly cut lumber or large rocks. Though the meager settlement was bustling with activity, its temporary and provisional setting was passed off as ordinary to those that inhabited the space. Mounts of an array of different species stood to the side of the large stage, where they were tied beside a basin of dirty water.
Standing behind the stage with two burly and striking tauren positioned beside him, Deimos glanced around himself anxiously. Swallowing thickly in a poor attempt to return moisture to his thirst-stricken throat, the paladin darted his eyes around himself. A dozen other nervous and scared slaves stood feet away from him, each one looking all the more apprehensive and fearful when the goblin trader approached the group. Giving a hand gesture to one of the waiting and timid bodies, the goblin would retreat up the stairs in the back of the stage with the slave he chose. Though it was still mid-morning, their meager group had been reduced to half in a mere couple hours time. His pointed ears easily hearing the auctioneer call out the winner of the unfortunate slave that had been on display on the stage, Deimos knew at the rate the pace was moving the group would be depleted to nothing before noon.
Glancing down at his chest when the impatient and edgy goblin pointed to a troll slave standing several paces away from him, Deimos heaved a deep sigh. Clad in only a pair of ratty and worn linen shorts, the young elf wasn't the least bit surprised at the darkened tint to his skin. Though he wasn't quite sure what parts of his skin were colored due to the intense sun or the grim, having spent four days in the harsh environment. Unable to look up when he heard the slave begin to struggle against the captors forcing him up the stairs, Deimos inspected his barren chest. The once flaxen and fair hued skin was a light tan, blotches of dirt and filth spotting his front. Wetting his cracked and dry lips in hopes of retaining some moisture, the paladin knew it was futile. Though the traders were kind enough to house the slaves in a tent during the frigid nights, they were left to withstand the cruel rays and weather during the day. Only given scanty and hardly adequate provisions of water, the group of young men was left thirsty and dehydrated. His fingertips grazing across the gemmed metal collar around his neck, Deimos doubted his ability to put on a sufficient struggle or attempt of escape. Hearing the loud and boisterous auctioneer's voice continue the bidding on the ill-fated slave standing on the stage, Deimos glanced around the large and looming tauren. Cautiously standing watch close by him, the young elf didn't dare challenge the guards. His wrists were bound with a thick and strong rope, the frayed edges annoying the worn skin. The skin around his wrists was rubbed and bleeding, displaying the prolonged usage of the bindings. Exhausted, dehydrated, and weak, Deimos felt his heart plummet into his stomach. In no position to put up an ample flee, the paladin knew all thoughts of escape were futile. His unfortunate future rested ahead of him on the stage, and whoever had the biggest pocket book.
"The blood elf. Let's go."
The scratchy and intolerant voice surprising him, Deimos snapped his head up at the words. His eyes immediately resting on the other blood elf standing a few feet away, who stood still and void of emotion, the paladin knew it wasn't the other slave the goblin was addressing. Two large hands clutched his biceps, their oversized grips easily tugging him forward. Darting his gaze from the taurens' on each side of him, Deimos hesitantly eyed the irritated goblin waiting at the bottom of the rickety stairs. Hands crossed tightly across his chest, the plump and sweating trader kept his undaunted gaze on Deimos. The vice grips on his arms beginning to drag him, the young elf was forced to move his feet in front of one another; all the more closer to the stairs and his ultimate destination. Though he felt the stares from the other slaves bore into him, he didn't dare look back. His gaze was locked on the back of the stage; his head beginning to imagine what lay ahead of him.
Reaching the agitated goblin, Deimos gave a strong swallow. Though his nerves were racked and his mind was racing a mile a minute, it seemed the small trader in front of him wasn't the least bit fazed. Though, Deimos assumed, the trader considered the happenings and his actions completely business and not personal in the least. He was merely a product and a means of income to the traders; nothing more. More so, the paladin naturally assumed those sitting on the makeshift benches only feet away, where his prospective master sat, also harbored similar feelings. He was an object or item, his identity and personality weren't valued or cared for.
"Up the stairs! I don't have all day."
The rough voice from below him reaching his ears, Deimos didn't have time to react before he felt a strong force push him towards the stairs. His bare feet happily leaving the burning sands, he apprehensively placed one foot in front of the other on the stairs. His head kept bowed and eyes glued to the warped and worn wooden planks he climbed, the paladin saw out of the corner of his eye the goblin race up the stairs ahead of him. Each step he took, each stair he climbed, Deimos felt his heart begin to beat all the faster. The pumping of blood filled his ears, his chest rising and falling more rapidly. He wasn't quite sure if his body was consumed more by sheer terror or nervousness, though he could care less. His body deprived of water, he found himself unable to produce considerable sweating, though had he been given better provisions, it would have been different. Straining his hearing, Deimos heard nothing from the stage or those waiting in front of it; only the stagnant desert atmosphere filled his head. His foot landing on the stage, Deimos was both surprised and dismayed to find himself out of stairs to climb. While the staircase looked to be constructed of an adequate amount of stairs, the paladin only wished there were more to scale. Both feet standing cautiously on the splintered wood that made up the stage, the young elf hesitantly glanced up.
A gulp of air hitched inside his throat, Deimos felt his fear and panic increase tenfold. Lines of crude benches filled the front of the stage, each spot filled with a figure. His eyes dancing through the crowd, the paladin was both taken back and disgusted with the sheer number that attended. Nearly sixty bodies sat silently watching him, though he was unable to see most of them. Majority of the customers wore concealing cloaks, the hood pulled discretely over their heads. The lack of facial observance only made his nervousness increase, his body willing itself to futilely sweat, and heart beat more madly. Though he couldn't see their faces, he could sense their gazes running up and down his body; his stomach churning at the feeling.
A harsh push in the middle of his back propelled Deimos forward, his feet stumbling to gain proper footing. His bound hands fruitlessly moving in an attempt to right himself, he was fortunate enough to remain upright as he came to a stable position in the middle of the wooden stage. Had he fallen on his knees, the paladin doubted his ability to right himself with his impeded movement. Swallowing roughly as he fidgeted his weight from one foot to the other, the paladin scanned the people watching him deathly silent and still. One would soon become his master.
"This here's a blood elf paladin. Twenty years old. Bidding will start at fifty thousand."
The goblins loud and rough voice boomed through the barren desert, the words seeming to echo through Deimos' head. Darting his eyes at the nearly unmoving forms scrutinizing him, the young elf was somewhat surprised at the excessive amount the traders were asking for. A small flame of hope and optimism burned bright in his soul; perhaps no one would buy him at such a large price tag. Could it be possible? Perhaps he would remain in the settlement until the next auction occurred, buying him time to formulate an escape plan. Or perhaps the traders would simply lower the price to ensure the sale. It would be an ill-advised business move to decrease the price when there was still a chance at a trader eventually paying the costly charge.
"Seventy-five."
Deimos' breathing seemed to stop at the scratchy and gruff voice that resonated through the area. Eyeing the black hooded figure sitting in the center of the mass of customers, the young elf felt the small and minute flame douse itself; a piece of his soul seeming to die with it. A second passed, the paladin unable to tear his gaze away from the mysteriously hooded person that could prospectively hold his future.
"One hundred."
Snapping his head to the side where the second voice boomed through the still air, Deimos felt his heart rate increase significantly. Inspecting the concealed brown cloaked individual, the young elf darted his eyes back to the initial bidder. Though the situation was nerve racking and precarious, Deimos was still slightly surprised at the demeanor the customers held themselves in. Fully expecting the caliber of the clientele to be raucous and rude, he was taken by surprise to find quite the opposite. Each body sat still and quiet, the only noise emitted from the crowd came from the bidders.
"One hundred fifty."
Turning his gaze to a new voice that sounded out through the space, the bidder's identity also concealed with the aid of a hood, Deimos swallowed nervously.
"One hundred seventy."
"Two hundred."
"Two twenty five."
"Two fifty."
"Two seventy five."
"Two ninety."
Darting his eyes between the numerous voices that erupted from the crowd, the paladin felt his heart beat more rapidly in his chest with each called out bid. The morning sun burnt down on his face, his eyes blinking several times at its ferocity. His stomach churned angrily, threatening to spill its meager contents on the wooden boards.
"Three hundred."
"Three fifty."
Expecting to hear another voice fill the air in an attempt to outbid the other, Deimos was instead rewarded with a prolonged silence. Resting his eyes on the sole individual where the last bid originated from, the paladin eyed the black cloaked figure. Though he was still very much infused with fear and dread at what lay ahead of him, Deimos welcomed the disdainful and angry emotions towards the mysterious bidder. The screaming and loud silence that consumed the area only reaffirmed what he dreaded: he was looking at his new master.
"Going once!"
Unable to break his stare from the cloaked figure, Deimos gazed at the man under scrutinizing eyes. His structure lacked the mass of the orcs, tauren, and draenei yet was far too tall to be a dwarf or gnome. The bidder didn't have the looming height of the trolls; leaving its race to be either human, blood elf, night elf, or undead. Taking in the scratchy and rough voice that came from the hooded face, it seemed the logical presumption would be undead.
"Going twice!"
Narrowing his eyes at the unmoving and tranquil cloaked man, Deimos gave a small tilt of his head in puzzlement. Unable to distinguish any characteristics of the bidder, the paladin felt his nervousness increase at the idea of just what kind of slave he would be. It was well known that an arena system was established and running in Tanaris, gladiators being the focal entertainment of such a vile sport. Would he find himself in the ring, utilizing his skills as a paladin and soldier to survive yet another day? Or maybe he would be reserved for hard labor. Mines and caves littered the continent and the great mountains to the north. Perhaps he would find himself in a cavern with a mining pick in hand, exhaustively working fifteen hour days for the profit of another. Feeling a shudder rack his body, Deimos didn't want to give thought to the other possibilities.
"Sold!"
The word, though it was simple and plain, held a deeper sinister and disturbing meaning to the young paladin, who blinked several times in amazement at what had transpired. In a mere matter of minutes he was transformed from a free entity to one forced into the bounds of slavery, the sole figure withholding his freedom sitting in front of him. Time seemed to slow or nearly stop for the young Sin'dorei, who felt his intakes of breath come at a more rapid and uneven pace, incredulous and disbelieving feelings enveloping his soul. It was done.
"Come around the side for processing."
The goblins loud voice, its bored and impatient tone carrying itself with the nearly desolate wind, echoed in Deimos' ears. His eyes moving with his buyer as the figure slowly and tentatively stood up from its sitting position, heeding to the trader's request, the paladin slightly jumped as two rough and calloused hands wrapped themselves around his arms. Tearing his dubious gaze from his walking buyer, each of his steps landing on the sands with uncanny care and mindfulness as if each step was predetermined or planned, Deimos glanced at the burly tauren beginning to drag him back to the stairs behind him. Allowing the larger figure to move him towards the back of the stage, the goblin already racing down the stairs ahead of them, the young elf had to remind himself that he, too, had to walk in order to effectively move.
The sun seemed to beat down harder now as Deimos gingerly stepped down the stairs, not even flinching when his feet made a painful contact with the scorching, white sands. Licking his cracked and dried lips, he glanced down at his bound wrists as his tauren escort began to pull him towards the side of the stage. Caked in crimson dried blood and matted with filthy sand, the paladin mutely wondered if his new "master" would allow him to properly care for the wounds. However, he figured, it would entirely depend on what type of slave he was to become. If he would find himself in an arena ring, his master would most likely see to it that he was in the best of health – his winnings depended on it. But if he was merely a diminutive labor hand in a bleak mine hidden in the north, he doubted his wellbeing would be seen as substantial. However, the considerable price tag that the buyer was forced to swallow suggested his future carried much more meaning than a simple laborer. Suggesting, albeit disturbingly, that he could find himself as a more personal slave.
Hearing the exchange of voices ahead of him, Deimos hesitantly lifted his head to inspect his new surroundings as the tauren began to slow their pace. Standing several paces in front of him with two brawny and muscular kodo's was the buyer and his new master, along with two sweating and fidgeting goblins. Narrowing his gaze solely on the cloaked being, the paladin inspected and took in as much of the buyer's appearance as he could while the figure relinquished a large leather sack to one of the waiting trader's. A thick black cloak delicately constructed from primal mooncloth concealed the buyer's identity and features, though Deimos was able to deduce his privileged economic standing from the craftsmanship of the piece of clothing. Silver threading embroidered the edges of the cloak, the impressive trim shining with the bright and livid sun. Coming to a standstill within arms reach of the cloaked figure, Deimos allowed and welcomed the infused and angered feelings that threatened to spill from his being. Though he felt his physical and mental wellbeing plagued with extreme exhaustion and fatigue, he dwelled and fed on the incensed emotions that were directed at his new master.
Preparing to address the concealed figure, Deimos was instead surprised to find the being slowly turn to acknowledge his presence. Clenching his hands into tight fists as he eyed the drawn hood, silently pleading for a gust of wind to disclose his master's identity and features, the paladin was forced to eye the darkened place where a face ought to be, the obscuring hood hindering any possibility of seeing a hint of features. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other under the unyielding sun, the young elf suddenly felt immensely vulnerable and exposed, the scrutiny and unwavering glare of his master on his body, though he couldn't see it, setting him into unease. Involuntarily pulling his bound wrists in closer to his sides in a poor attempt to retain some of his dignity, though it did little to calm his nerves, Deimos nervously sent his eyes downcast as he mutely pleaded for the silent and invasive visual inspection to desist.
"I'm more than pleased to see he's so obedient and submissive."
The scratchy and rough words spoken in Common, a slight tinge of an old and worn accent lingering behind the voice reaching his ears, Deimos snapped his head up incredulously. Confused yet still angered eyes roamed the cloaked figure, the source of the disturbing words, as it slowly approached the young elf with obstinacy and purpose. Opening and closing his mouth in a poor attempt to search for the words he willed to come to mind, Deimos both physically and mentally shuddered as his master strongly gripped his shoulder and pulled him towards one of the waiting kodo's. Trying in vain to quell and suppress the nervousness and anxiety in his being, the paladin attempted to redirect his emotions more towards his anger.
Whipping his head towards the slightly taller yet slouched figure stopping in front of the large, waiting animal, Deimos set his jaw in hopes of showcasing the tenacity and firmness his father so often displayed. "I'll never submit to you."
Silently hoping his eyes flashed with the same anger and fury his wished he was replicating, the young elf forced himself to hold what he assumed was eye contact with the momentarily still figure. Several beats passed, neither of the two moving or uttering a word, the air around them seeming to thicken and condense to a standstill.
Blinking repeatedly when a gloved hand rose to delicately stroke his dirt-stained cheek, the digits moving with such grace and fluidity that Deimos' stomach began to churn with discomfort and unease. The posh and costly leather glove tickled his rough skin, the gesture seeming to disperse the preconceived emotions of courage only to give away to his true exhausted and broken spirit. The eye contact became far too heavy and strong for the young elf to bare, his gaze finding the kodo's shadow cast on the sand all the more interesting.
The caressing hand not faltering or moving from its action, Deimos was again surprised when another gloved hand took hold of his chin, slowing and delicately lifting it up in a careful manner. Forcing his parched throat to deeply swallow, the young Sin'dorei reluctantly lifted his fatigued eyes to meet the darkened and mysterious gaze from the concealed face.
"You already have."
Blinking several times at the response, the young elf found himself at a loss of words or ability to formulate a sharp or witty comeback. Instead, he acknowledged his mind's pleas for rest, his wrists cries for respite from the angry binds, and his bodies need for nourishment. The hand on his cheek stilling in its stroking motion while the other stiffly held his chin in resolute place, Deimos realized he had neither the willpower nor the energy to put up a halfway decent fight. He was tired, aching, and worn. And more distressing, he mused, not bothering to conceal his true emotions from his facial expression, he was broken.
The change in his demeanor, it seemed, didn't go unnoticed either. While the touch on his cheek was suddenly gone, the hand grasping the young elf's chin slowly and gingerly surrendered it back, its gloved digits softly grazing his skin. A deep and throaty chuckle was emitted from the cloaked figure, the paladin eyeing it in both curiosity and slight disdain. His master had won the silent and deadly battle for control and dominance, the defeat a killing blow to his weak façade of strength.
Silently watching while the concealed being rummaged around a bag hanging limply from the side of the looming kodo, Deimos shifted his weight in the sand uneasily while he waited. A beat later, the hooded figure turned back to the silent Sin'dorei, a bundle of cloth in his hands.
Brows together slightly in puzzlement, Deimos was rewarded with the cloth being tossed to him, his bound hands and lethargic muscles barely moving up in time to grasp it. Slowly unrolling the material, the scratchy voice quelled the questions plaguing his mind. "Put that on. We've got a long ride ahead of us."
Holding a cloak made of similar material to that of his master's shroud, Deimos was slightly staggered at the demand and order, though he didn't dare voice his surprise. The elements that made up Tanaris were both hostile and unreceptive, especially to those less suited to survive its environment. His skin already a light tan from the harsh sun, the young elf was grateful at the reprise from further aggravation, though he was slightly bemused from the gesture. Gingerly and slowly sweeping the cloak around his form with as much ease as his bound hands would allow, Deimos began to fumble with the khorium clasp, its shined surface glinting in the sun. Feeling a pair of eyes watching his movements, the young elf's nimble fingers successfully securing the front of the cloak in place, he dared himself to glance up to meet the imploring gaze from his hooded master. The mysterious figure stood unmoving and patient, his structure concealing any emotions or hints of thought as easily as the hood that hide his face. Feeling the gaze from the figure roaming his now cloaked body, which Deimos was more than thankful for, the paladin regardless felt his unease and discomfort increase.
Breaking the eye contact, the young elf instead tilted his head at one of the large kodo's. "Where are we going? We're not staying in Tanaris?"
The question spoken in Common seemed to accomplish what Deimos sought, his master breaking his unwavering stare from his body and swiftly approaching the paladin with purpose. Immediately one hand firmly grasped the back of the young Sin'dorei's neck, the vice grip stern and unyielding; a harsh contrast to the soft and delicate actions the figure displayed only minutes prior. Wincing slightly at the touch, though he wasn't sure if it was more mental or truly physically discomfort, Deimos stumbled slightly forward at the abrupt thrust to follow his master. If the cloaked figure took any notice, he didn't show it, instead keeping his speed steady and unwavering, the bound paladin trying to keep pace with him. Sparing several glances at the slouched figure as they walked around the kodo, Deimos was unsure how to respond to the gesture.
Stopping as the two reached a small set of crudely constructed wooden steps on the side of the kodo, the cloaked being released the young elf from his grasp and gave him a gentle push on the small of his back and gestured to the animal. "Rule number two, don't talk unless spoken too. That includes questions. Now get on."
Though the scratchy voice held an insistence and firmness that would rival even that of Tharsis, Deimos nevertheless narrowed his eyes at the hooded figure in slight loathsome yet also puzzlement. What was rule number one? Giving a small shake of his head, the paladin ascended the small set of stairs to approach the waiting kodo. While the young elf admitted submission to his master, though in his mind he felt it only temporary till he could regain his strength, it seemed the once gentle mannerisms displayed by the figure were replaced with a more directive attitude. Bringing his bound hands up to grasp the side of the saddle resting atop the larger animal, its immense chest cavity expanding with each intake of breath only to deflate with an exhale, Deimos silently willed his aching and tired muscles to comply with his wish for them to heed his commands. Feeling somewhat confident that his grip on the saddle was secure, he hoisted himself up with the use of his arm muscles and began to swing his right leg over to sit in the saddle.
Sliding completely into the saddle, each leg resting on either side of the huge animal, the paladin's feat of accomplishment was short lived. Slamming his eyes shut, his vision of the world was suddenly plunged into a state of vertigo and unsteadiness, the fast and demanding movement of mounting the kodo stealing any source of energy and strength he preserved in his body. His mind felt strangely fuzzy and dizzy, while the once typical sounds of the barren desert were voided out to nothing. All his limbs felt numb and insensitive, his hands losing their grip on the front of the saddle. The mere prospect of supporting his body felt impossible and difficult.
Unexpectedly, Deimos felt strong and steady hands grasping his left arm and shoulder, the feeling seeming to send a jolt of energy through his system and mind. His hearing returned first, the nearly silent and small gusts of wind that filled the desert occupying his mind, which shortly preceded the warmth and sensitivity of his limbs returning. Cracking his eyes open, the bright and unforgiving sun glaring down at him, Deimos hesitantly glanced to the left to spot the source of the touch. His hands beginning to fumble to replace their grasp back on the saddle to pull himself up right once again, his momentary lapse of dizziness causing him to nearly slip from the saddle, the young elf eyed the cloaked figure standing rigidly at his side, his gloved hands supporting Deimos.
The hands slowly and hesitantly removing themselves when the paladin sat upright on the animal, the shrouded figure didn't move from its position beside the mount for several beats. Feeling the presence unmoving next to him, the young elf curiously yet still unsteadily eyed the cloaked man.
The familiar scratchy and rough voice filled the air from the figure. "Are you fit to ride alone?"
Shuddering at the thought of the alternative, the feeling of the leather glove caressing his cheek still all too fresh in his mind, Deimos gave a small nod of his head. "I'm just tired."
Accepting the answer, the cloaked being grabbed at the rope bindings, giving a firm pull forward. With precise speed and determination in his movements, the figure secured the slack from the bindings to the leather saddle of the animal. Giving a small tug to test the knot, the young elf's master, satisfied with his craftsmanship, gestured to the knot. "If you plan on sleeping during the ride, this should keep you from falling off. I'm not making any stops until nightfall."
Eyeing the tethered rope to the saddle, Deimos tested the tie himself with a harder pull from his wrists. There was a distinct lack of slack from the knot to his wrist, his ability to move greatly hindered. Not to mention, the harsh pull from the bindings caused his rubbed wrists to cry out in agony as the rope plunged deeper through his skin. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, the young elf turned his gaze upwards to watch his master mount his own kodo, the animal responding to the added weight with a small exhale. Licking his dry lips, the paladin watched the figure steer his animal towards his direction until the two were nearly touching. Leaning forward to open one of the many bags that hung from the leathered saddle, the being retrieved a long rope constructed of thick material. Stringing the line through Deimos' kodos' saddle and securing a knot at the end, the cloaked figure did the same to the other side with his kodo.
Turning his gaze to rest on the cloaked figure, taking in his slouched posture, Deimos forced his throat to allow a dry swallow, his pride seeming to go down with it. "Can I ask a question?"
Immediately, the hooded head snapped to face the young elf, the response coming out instantly. "No."
Unable to suppress the heavy and frustrated sigh at the stanch answer, the young elf eyed the thick leather hide of the kodo, inspecting its grayed and cracked skin. "Just one?"
A perturbed and aggravated sigh and snarl sounded from the cloaked figure, his gaze never leaving the paladin's face, with his scratching voice coming out abrasive and impatient. "Fine. What?"
While he was given the leeway of asking one question, Deimos truthfully had nearly a million buzzing through his head, though he doubted his master would allow any more than the one. Biting his lip in quick thought, the paladin had to quickly determine which question had priority over the others. Thankfully, the decision was swift.
Turning his eyes upwards hesitantly, Deimos tilted his head to the side questioningly. "What kind of slave am I going to be? What will I be doing?"
"You get one question, not two."
Narrowing his eyes at the darkened face, silently wishing he could make eye contact with the figure, the young elf allowed a nearly silent growl to leave his lips. "What will I be doing?"
Rather than an immediate answer coming from the cloaked figure, silence was instead his reply. Several beats passed without even a sound or movement from either of them, Deimos wondering if maybe he wouldn't receive a reply at all. Beginning to open his mouth to possibly reword his question, the young elf was instead compensated with the rough voice responding. "You'll see soon enough."
The answer not what he expected nor hoped for, Deimos burrowed his brows together in dissatisfaction and discontent, feeling as though his one question allowance was wasted. Abruptly, the hooded figure gave a hard jab to his mounts side with his heel, the animal commencing a brisk walk at the action.
Bound from the rope, Deimos' kodo was forced to comply with the other, the animal easily matching the other's pace. The young elf, however, was less inclined to heed his master's will for silence. "You said I got one question. You didn't answer it!"
A sudden and strong thrust back on the reigns from the cloaked figured caused both kodo's to stop in their tracks, the being turning to face Deimos with a burning ferocity. "Rule number one, the most important rule. You're my slave. Mine. When I say to do something, you do it. When I say the conversation is over, it's over. Understood?"
For the first time, the young elf was somewhat thankful for his lightly tanned skin as his master would have a more trying time seeing his face turn scarlet with anger. The demeaning and humiliating words circulating in his head, the paladin sent his angered gaze to the side. A small part of him thankful that the conversation had ended, yet still irritated at the debasing words, he felt his kodo begin moving forward once again at a brisk and fast pace.
After a comfortable silence swept over them, Deimos hesitantly turned his gaze up to spare a sideways glance at his master. Sitting in his saddle to the left of the paladin, the being's slouched yet rigid posture sent both hatred and fear burning through the young elf's beaten spirits. Testing the bindings around his wrists with a tug, the thicken rope not yielding in the slightest, he released an exhausted and aggravated sigh past his lips. The two kodos moving across the barren and vast desert sands at an impressive speed, Deimos assumed based on his master's words they would be traveling for a lengthy period. Squinting his eyes from the harsh sun that bore down on him cruelly, he attempted to wet his cracked and moisture deprived lips.
The sky was a bright blue with not a cloud or obstacle marring its surface, the sun's rays beating down in its unobstructed path. Blinking at the far off horizon, the young elf felt his fatigued and muddled mind begin to wander. Sitting on the running kodo, dressed in only a shoddy and dirty pair of cloth shorts, Deimos wouldn't have imagined in a million years he'd wind up in such a situation. A mere half year ago he was enjoying his new found friendships and laid back living style in Stormwind City amongst the humans, where enjoying a glass of wine at the tavern was a daily ritual. Though he suffered social stigmatism and isolation from his fellow soldiers and humans, he relished the fun nights with Matheus and the lighthearted bickering with Warren. Blinking several more times in an effort to shield his eyes from the sun's strong rays, Deimos felt a lump beginning to grow in his throat.
His mount tethered to that of his master's, would he ever lay eyes on the human capital again? Would he be able to hear the auctioneer's yelling and frantic voice coupled with panicked buyers in the Trade District again? Would he be able to walk through the Keep once more, mocking the Alliance guards that shifted uncomfortably from his presence? His future unknown, the questions lingered in the air as such.
And unexpectedly, a bigger and more profound thought crossed his mind; one that overwhelmed his longing to lay his eyes on Stormwind once more. Would he be given the chance to see his father once again, or the beautiful Sin'dorei city he grew up in? The thought weighing heavily on both his heart and his mind, Deimos allowed his eyes to close as his lids began to grow heavy and tired, his body leaning forward against the immense animal's back. Attempting to swallow the lump in his throat, the effort seemingly futile, he clenched his hands tighter around saddle. Wherever he was headed, whatever his intended purpose was, he sincerely doubted it consisted of him seeing the purple and pink painted sunset of Silvermoon or the vibrant colored flowers that decorated the city. While he never harbored a warming relationship with the older Ares'mar, he couldn't help but find himself disappointed and deflated to come to the realization that his father was unable to save him. For nearly the first time in the young elf's existence, Tharsis had failed at something.
Feeling the corners of his eyes begin to tingle with a strange sensation, his body slowly succumbing to its screaming exhausted and worn state, Deimos again forced himself to swallow the lump that refused to dissipate. His hope and optimism nearly desolate, his spirit beaten as badly as his body, he knew returning to his once familiar lifestyle was becoming a far off and out of reach dream. He could only hold an empty and blind hope that whatever life his master would force upon him would be comfortable and easily adaptable. Perhaps the best attitude would be attempting to find an uncomplicated and easier transition into his newly found lot in life, rather than rebelling and fighting it. A small part of his naturally aggressive and rebellious self screaming back at such a thought, the paladin laid his forehead against the rough yet cool skin of the kodo.
The warming and suffocating collar around his neck, his muscles and body aching with every movement from the kodo, the young elf knew fighting against his captor wasn't a viable or smart option. Fatigued and beaten, he felt a humiliating tear creep down his cheek at the vulnerable and weak position he so readily accepted. Feeling cold blackness begin to creep up on his consciousness, he no longer sent a prayer to the Light; it wouldn't matter, it couldn't hear him anyways, nor would it listen even if it could. He was alone. A second stream of water slowly trailing down his dirt ridden face, he openly welcomed the black veil that swept over his consciousness, his mind and body immediately falling into deep sleep.
"Wake up."
His vision black, he turned his head slightly at the scratchy and abrasive words that barely registered in his blank and floating mind.
"Let's go. Wake up, blood elf."
Sleeping gingerly leaving his body and tired mind, Deimos slowly began to register feelings and life begin to pump through his aching limbs. Reluctantly opening his heavy lids, his brilliant green eyes swirling with fatigue and slight confusion, he hesitantly glanced around himself in puzzlement. Still laying forward on the large and now stationary kodo, the paladin's wrists were still bound tightly to the leather saddle. Slowly lifting his head, a small ache beginning to throb in his stiff neck, he blinked as he gazed around himself, a sick realization dawning on him. Fastened against a broad and thick wooden plank, other mounts surrounding him, the kodo happily drank from an immense basin of murky water while Deimos' mind slowly registered and recognized his surroundings. Shoddy buildings constructed of warped planks and cracked stucco, he took in the salt scented breeze and the sounds of crashing waves. Hearing movement to the side of him, he spared a sideways glance to confirm what he thought. Eyeing the small green goblin, Deimos deduced he was in Ratchet.
"I hope you enjoyed your nap."
The familiar rough words that sounded like sand rubbing on steel, Deimos turned his attention to his side. Sure enough, he master was standing with an impatient edge, the concealing cloak still securely in its place. His head felt strangely lightheaded and dizzy, his muscles throbbing with a harsh and sharp pain, Deimos forced himself to swallow, the action making his throat erupt into a burning and stinging pain. Glancing up at the clear dusk sky, he was slightly surprised at the lack of daylight. "It's already night fall?"
His gloved hands beginning to work the knot wrapped around the kodo's saddle, the cloaked figure offered the swaying paladin a nod. "You slept during the ride."
Attempting to wet his cracked and dried lips, the young elf wasn't surprised to find the action futile; nor did he find his scratchy voice startling. "What-what are we doing here?"
"Stopping for the night."
Not expecting an answer from his master, Deimos was somewhat elated at the short response. Watching the rope be pulled through the saddle strap, the figure simply dropping the slack to the sandy ground below, he glanced around him inquisitively. "Are we close to where we're headed?"
Taking a step back from the mount and young elf, the hooded figure offered a small nod of his head while giving a hand gesture to the boy. "We'll get there tomorrow. Can you dismount on your own?"
Watching a pair of goblin guards patrol next to them, his stomach turning to angered knots at the trade coalition emblem on their arms, Deimos offered the keen and impatient figure a brisk nod. "I'll be fine."
Eyeing the dirt ground to the side of him, his ultimate destination, the young elf couldn't deny it looked incredibly far away. Taking a deep sigh, he instead directed his attention to forcing his aching and painful muscles to comply with his orders to move. Gripping the saddle with his still bound hands, he swung his leg over the broad animal's chest cavity, and braced his legs for the impact. Releasing the saddle, his bare feet made a hard and painful contact with the ground, the impact sending a jolting twinge up his spine that traveled through his limbs. Crying out in pain, his head swimming from the soreness, he vaguely registered himself falling to his knees while the palms of his hands attempted to support himself from falling forward further. His flipping stomach refusing to tolerate the pulsing pain, Deimos felt himself begin to heave, his head feeling as though it would split in two.
Feeling two hands support his upper arms and much of his weight while he released whatever meager contents were in his stomach, Deimos was more than thankful at the presence. Releasing several dry heaves, his stomach empty of anything to throw up, he felt his diminutive energy deplete. Eyes half lidded in exhaustion and pain, the blood elf sat in the position for several beats, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath that racked his body.
The strong and secure hands not moving, if anything gripping the boy slightly harder, the rough voice filled the stagnant air. "Are you done?"
Clenching his eyes shut as a wave of nausea swept over him, his stinging throat begging for his stomach to still, Deimos allowed several seconds to pass by uninterrupted. Feeling his body begin to calm, though the throbbing ache didn't die in the least, he offered the figure crouching to his side a small nod as he slowly began to push himself back to his feet. Feeling his master's firm grip on his arms and his body brush against his side, Deimos instinctively pulled away from the figure. His body weak and tired, he was easily overpowered from the being, his unyielding grasp not wavering from the effort.
"Stop struggling. You're in no shape to fight."
Standing on unsteady and swaying feet, Deimos spared a puzzled and heated gaze at his master as the figure tossed several bags over his shoulder, sure to keep one hand fastened on the unsteady paladin's shoulder. "Where are we going?"
His free hand going back to gripping the boys other shoulder, the cloaked figure waited for two goblins to pass by before beginning a trek across the sandy ground with the paladin in tow. "The inn."
The dirt ground still resonating a mild warmth from the burning sun during the day, Deimos barely paid it any heed on his bare feet as he moved towards a large and looming building in the distance. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with convincing his unsettled stomach to remain calm and forcing his tight muscles to comply with his demands. Thankful at the steady and strong grips on his shoulders from his master walking close beside him, he didn't try to fight against the hands. The throbbing pain pulsing through his body, his face wincing with each step, he doubted his ability to walk without the aid.
"Are you ok?" The scratchy and abrasive voice asked, watching the blood elf grimace as a clenching of his leg muscle shot pain through his body.
Glancing up through his downturned head and heavy panting, Deimos was somewhat relieved to find the inn coming into a closer distance; though it did little to settle his continuously flipping stomach or aching body. "I-I'm fine."
Though their walking didn't still or lessen in the least, the figure being sure to keep their pace at an even and sure speed, the paladin found a surprising comfort as his master readjusted his grip on his shoulders and supported more of his weight. His leg giving out, Deimos stumbled forward as his bound hands instinctively flew up to right himself. The action, however, wasn't needed as the figure was quick to pull the young elf upright while still keeping their pace forward.
"Elthom'aral." (Almost there)
The voice lacking the familiar scratchiness and rasping characteristics, the whispered Thalassian filling the air, Deimos snapped his head up in surprise. Approaching the large and run down inn, pieces of stucco missing from the siding while there were gaps between the roofing shingles, the paladin moved his wide and surprised eyes around the close figure that seemed to increase their pace to a brisk walk. Blinking several times to make sure he didn't hallucinate or fabricate the words, the boy had to be sure to continue moving his feet despite his shocked state. The voice having a perfect Thalassian accent and dialect, his mind began to wonder the reasons; an Undead wouldn't be able to match its perfection without growing up with the language. Consequently, his master had to be that of a fellow blood elf, or a high elf. Considering the diminutive and meager numbers that made up the Quel'dorei, it was most likely the hunched and slouched figure was one of his own race.
The large and open doorway to the inn in front of them, Deimos didn't have time to question the peculiar and bizarre change before being roughly pushed through the threshold. Once inside the establishment, he allowed his gaze to move from his master's darkened and concealed face to spare a quick glance around himself; though there wasn't much in terms to see. The entrance was small and dirty, a worn and aged wooden desk resting against a wall with a bored goblin standing behind it. There were two wooden chairs of similar quality, the floor and walls also following suit. Assuming they'd have to properly check into the inn, Deimos was again surprised when he was yanked to the side while his master pulled him down a short corridor connected to the entrance.
The two coming to an abrupt stop before a closed warped wooden door, splinters bursting from the panes, Deimos was relieved to lean himself against the wall. His body still in excruciating and sharp pains, he couldn't seem to fathom what a blood elf would need for a slave. His chest rapidly rising and falling with each labored breath, he watched with inquisitive eyes as his master pulled a gold key from within his cloak.
"How do you know Thalassian?" Deimos asked in his native tongue as the figure began to turn the key in the etched key hole, the mechanism emitting a clicking noise.
"I'm a blood elf."
The simple reply, though it was what he suspected, left the paladin blinking curiously and puzzled at the cloaked figure. Though his head pounded in pain, he felt a flame of anger and rebellion ignite in his soul. His master pulling the key back from the door, satisfied at the doorknob turning freely, Deimos forced his tired body off the wall in preparation to enter the room as an onslaught of questions flowed freely from his mouth. "Why would a blood elf need a slave? Are you from Silvermoon? You do know that slavery is banned there, right?"
One hand pushing the door open, the figure firmly planted the second on the back of the young elf's neck, his grasp adopting a cruel vice. The doorway revealing a darkened and silent area, Deimos was caught off guard when he felt himself being propelled forward into the empty blackness before him. His bound hands flying up to catch himself as he landed painfully on his knees, the fall causing his stomach to flip threateningly and his muscles to protest in pain, he glanced around himself in both confusion and a small fear. Hearing the door behind him be slammed shut, the windowless room was enveloped in an eerie and uncanny darkness.
His eyes taking time to adjust to being plunged in blackness, Deimos felt and heard his heartbeat pound mercilessly in his chest. Though he was still burning with rage at the thought of a blood elf taking part in the vile slavery industry, he had a cold realization at his immensely vulnerable position, as well as his snide and spite questions. He was at the sole mercy and exculpation of his master. His pointed ears hearing a rough and loud scratch followed by the sound of a blazing fire, the boy clenched his eyes shut in the harsh yet bright light that erupted before his still kneeling form.
"You look like shit."
The Thalassian spoken words breaking through the stagnant and humid air as swiftly as the newly burning torch, Deimos snapped his eyes open in surprise at the familiar voice, no longer caring about the harsh light. Blinking repeatedly as he forced his still unfocused eyes to comply with his will, he gazed at the figure standing before him, the hood of his cloak pulled back to reveal the face that he longed to see. His chest swelling at the sight, Deimos darted his eyes over the pointed ears, long black hair, and matching groomed goatee.
Not caring about the physical repercussion he might feel, the young elf jumped to his feet at the recognizable and familiar face. "Phobos!"
The escalated joy and bliss at seeing his older cousin and fellow paladin standing before him was short lived. The abrupt and swift movement caused his vision to blur and his already screaming muscles to give away from his weight he forced upon them. His mind a dull hum and haze, he somewhat registered his body freely falling forward, though he couldn't will his hands to move up in an attempt to brace himself for the fall.
Surprisingly, the harsh planked floor never made a cruel impact with the him. Two strong and sturdy hands supporting his shoulders, Deimos barely noticed himself be half carried, half dragged across the threshold, his mind slowly beginning to grasp onto reality. While the edges of his vision were still plagued with shadows and darkness, he began to make out the torch-lit room and what looked to be a shoddy bed coming into focus. Blinking repeatedly as his head resonated in pain, his was thankful when the hands gently guided him to a sitting position at the edge of the bed, his aching muscles thankful for the reprise.
Head and eyes downcast, Deimos was surprised as sound suddenly began to circulate in his head; the vertigo deafening out all noise save for the rapid beats of his heart. Lips parted as he heaved his breaths in and out, he became aware of soft Thalassian words being spoken, though he had a trying time deciphering the actual meaning behind the voice. His head pounded mercilessly, his stomach rolled with sick nausea, and his muscles stung in a pulsing ache. But his once beaten and defeated spirit soared with renewed strength and vigor, his inner being ignited with disbelieving hope at knowing he was in safe hands.
The voice coming to a stop, his mind grasping a more tangible reality, Deimos turned his tired yet rejoiced eyes up to the blood elf kneeling before him with a face full of concern. "How-how did you find me?"
Satisfied at his cousin's ability to formulate a sentence and remain conscious, Phobos quickly stood to his feet with purpose and determination. Nearly a century older than the younger elf, he was a fierce and thorough soldier in Tharsis' battalion, his impressive feats as a paladin earning him an officer title of lieutenant. Quickly unclasping the cloak around his form and discarding it to the side haphazardly, the blood elf moved to a leather bag that rested on the floor. "I'll tell you later. How do you feel?"
Watching the older elf pull something small from within the bags' depths, Deimos offered him a forced yet painful shrug. "I'm ok."
Lifting a sculpted and knowing brow, Phobos sent him an unamused look. Spending an immense amount of time with Tharsis, his uncle, he was all too well accustomed to the nonchalant and routine answer. He would have answered in the same fashion. Pursing his lips together while still holding a stare with the younger elf, he lifted his hand to reveal the object he sought. Though the small inn room was illuminated by only a mere and meager torch, the small key was visible and easily recognizable regardless; Deimos' face lighting up.
Leaning in to the younger elf, Phobos fumbled to place the key into the eyehole on the metal and jeweled collar around his neck. Giving a firm and final twist of his wrist, both blood elves released a sigh of relief as the choker opened with a click and gracelessly fell on the bed without a sound. Quickly and methodically moving his hands to Deimos' wrists, Phobos swiftly untied and unwound the thick rope that was stained in spots of blood; his own stomach flipping in anger at knowing he was partially responsible.
Plucking the vile and disgusting collar up before Deimos had the chance to inspect it, Phobos offered it a critical and sickened look over before tossing it to side without much care. "Feel better?"
A small smile going across his features, Deimos openly welcomed the Light flooding into his being and soul greatly; the warming presence enveloping his soul in pleasure. While his body still ached and pained from the ailments, his soul felt more complete and whole. "Much."
"Good," Phoebos shortly replied, mentally checking that feat off his list to ensure his cousin's wellbeing. A blood knight himself, he could empathize with the young elf the horrible feeling of having the Light being ruthlessly ripped from his being, an empty and desolate shell being left behind. Though he never relinquished his grasp on the Light, it seemed Deimos had been born with a blessing most Sin'dorei paladins only dreamed of. "Take off your cloak so I can see the damage."
Grabbing a handful of bandages from within a bag while the younger elf gingerly dropped the cloak around him, Phobos turned examining eyes on him. "Where to start…"
Moving his investigative gaze from the top of the sitting elf and slowly moving down, Phobos couldn't quell the small sigh that slipped past his lips. While he was trained and had vast experience in field first aid, his meager supplies and tools would do little in terms of bringing Deimos to full health. Without taking vitals, he could easily detect a handful of maladies from a simple and quick visual inspection; some of which were out of his healing capabilities and preparation. Sitting on the edge of the crudely constructed bed, Deimos looked haggard and worn, fatigued dark circles under his glazed over eyes. Moving his gaze over the younger elf's dirt stained face, Phobos took in the several cuts and bruises that marred his skin, noting that none looked to be of consequential threat. Unfortunatey, his entire body seemed to be covered a thin layer of dirt and debris, making it slightly difficult for the older blood elf to thoroughly examine him.
Moving his eyes down, his gaze rested for a second on Deimos' bruised neck; the skin rubbed an angry red from the cruel collar. Anger and rage washing over him at whoever would force the revolting bond on his cousin, he forced himself to complete the visual inspection fully and completely before heeding such emotional responses. Eyeing his bare and dirt spotted chest, again taking a mental note of the minor and inconsequential grazes and abrasions, Phobos moved his stare down to his wrists. Tilting his head to the side as he considered the layers of skin that'd been rubbed raw, splatters of dried blood stained along his wrists and hands, the older paladin felt an angered regret at not spilling the blood of the traders in Tanaris. Whoever had fitted the ropes had obviously been careless and hasty, pulling the bonds vastly to tight, the sand filled cuts alluding to as much. While he had the supplies and ability to clean the wounds, internal care to fight any infection that could have set in would have to wait.
A small and tired smile going across his face as he watched Phobos vitally examine him with his eyes, somewhat uneasy under the visual inspection, Deimos shifted his body on the hay filled mattress. "I'm ok. I could use some sleep though."
The scratchy and strained voice pulling him from his reverie, Phobos smirked at the elf, promptly ignoring his words. "Well, you've got a nice tan, that's for sure. But you smell like shit."
"Thanks."
Disregarding the eye roll and sarcastic tone, Phobos leaned forward from his crouched position towards the other elf. Using his index finger and thumb, he quickly pinched the skin on the top Deimos' hand, a deep frowning gracing his features at the result. "And you're severely dehydrated. Did they give you any water at all?"
Gingerly nursing his newly abused skin, tempted to send a retort his cousin's way, Deimos instead chose to answer his questioning; he owed the paladin his life. "I got a little. I guess they assumed the buyers would patch us up."
A line of crude insults threatening to spill from his mouth as fury and rage swelled in his chest at his young cousin being treated in such a second rate fashion, Phobos chose to purse his lips to quell the action. Obviously worn and spent from such a trying experience, it wouldn't help Deimos in any way to hear such foul language; he needed support and aid.
Dropping the bandages on the bed beside his swaying cousin, Phobos sighed at the words he had to deliver. "Here's the bad news. You're too dehydrated to just drink water. You'd throw it up."
Taking a deep inhale of breath, somewhat prepared for the comment, Deimos offered him a stiff nod of his head. "Can I get anything to drink?"
A heavy guilt sweeping over his being at the begging and imploring tone that lingered in his cousin's voice, Phobos attempted to give him a hard and stern look. It was in utter vain, however. Deimos' face didn't attempt to conceal his desire for moisture, nor his complete trust and confidence in his cousin's ability to care for him. Sending him one last firm glance, the older paladin twisted around to grab one of the many bottles of water that he fitted himself with while mentally cursing all those that could be placed with blame. He sent death wishes to the vile and cruel traders for treating his cousin as such and berated himself for not ending their repulsive lives. He silently cursed Tharsis for allowing his elfling to end up in such a conspicuous and dangerous situation, and the threads of fate for permitting the events to fall into place. Though he generally held to his personal rule not to meddle or comment on the raising of Deimos, however much he disagreed with Tharsis' parenting style, he couldn't stop the small and unfair voice in his head that blamed his uncle. Shaking his head while he opened the reserve of water, he knew he was merely throwing fault at the easiest and most viable target.
"Here," Phobos began, his voice stern and firm, "You can drink a drop at a time. If you throw up, you'll just get more dehydrated."
The strict tone familiar to him, Deimos nodded as he watched the other elf quickly allow a small amount of water from the bottle fall into the waiting top in his hands. Thankful when Phobos offered the top to him, he brought the small metal basin to his cracked and dried lips with haste, eager to feel the much needed moisture returned to his throat. Tossing his head back, the contents of the top flooding his parched mouth, his throat immediately began to swallow, fervent to receive the small yet desired water.
Clenching his eyes shut as the small reserve moved down his arid and sore throat, Deimos couldn't stop the coughing fit that overcame his body, or the knots that twisted angrily in his stomach at the newly added content. His palms resting on his knees while he leaned forward coughing, he was mutely aware of a hand softly patting his back. The coughing aggravating his pounding head excruciatingly, he felt his stomach giving a wild and mad protest. Forcing his breaths to come in even and at a steady pace, a lifetime of mindfulness meditation aiding in the feat, Deimos was relieved to find the coughing subside.
Worriedly eyeing his cousin, fearful that perhaps the few drops of water were too much, Phobos gave a sigh of relief as the coughs desisted. "Are you ok?"
Swallowing several times, reveling in the small yet substantial moisture in his mouth, his being begging and pleading for more, Deimos nodded his head. "Yeah, thanks. When can I get more?"
Twisting the cap back on the bottle of water, Phobos sent him a hard look. "Probably not for an hour." Immediately seeing a flash of disappointment cross over the other elf's face, he was quick to continue. "Tomorrow you'll get intravenous hydration."
Brows together in slight confusion at the words, the young elf watched his cousin lean in closer while delicately picking up his abused and cut wrists. "Where are we going tomorrow?"
Moving to hold both wrists in one hand, mindful to be gentle and careful in his movements so as not to aggravate the abrasions, Phobos lightly laid his other hand atop the abused wrists. "Home."
The word, though it was simple and small, filled the young elf with such rejoice and happiness, he felt his chest swell with overwhelming joy. The word, only hours prior, was such an out of reach reality that he assumed he'd never achieve again; his new 'home' consisting of whatever slave lifestyle would be forced upon him. Vaguely noticing a dull light begin to shine under his cousin's hand and his wrists beginning to tingle, he took more notice to a large lump beginning to form in his parched and sore throat. He was going home.
Lifting his hand up to inspect his work, satisfied at the cleanse and healing spells mending the skin back to perfection, Phobos spared a quick glance up to the quiet elf. Taking in the blank and far off look in Deimos' eyes, his gaze focused to the side, the paladin spotted a small trail of moisture running down the side of his dirty cheek. Hastily sending his eyes down to the bandages that he forgotten on the bed, his hands moving up to grab them, he knew questioning his cousin for ailment's due to the tear wasn't needed. When he was given the assignment to obtain and ensure the young elf's safety and wellbeing, he was full-well prepared for such an emotional response.
"Deimos," Phobos softly began, his eyes still staying trained on the bandages as he began to tear small pieces off, "do you have any injuries that need immediate tending to?"
The words pulling him from his deep thought, the lump subsiding only slightly, Deimos turned his brilliant green eyes to meet ones of equal intensity, watching and observing him carefully. Not keen on being on the receiving end of such a concerned stare, he quickly shook his head, earning himself a pulsing pain from the action; though his euphoric state allowed him to disregard it. "How did you find me?"
Standing to his feet, his eyes narrowing on a small gash on the young elf's hairline, Phobos lightly grazed his finger over the incision, trying to determine if it required a bandage or not. "Your father."
The lump seemed to return to his throat, Deimos forcing a deep swallow in an effort to rid himself of it. So Tharsis had never ceased searching for him, despite the time and days that lapsed and seemingly desolate hope for recovering him. His bond never particularly strong and happy, he couldn't deny the past month with his father was more lighthearted and blithe than the past two decades, the commander more lenient and relaxed. Perhaps whatever caused the abrupt and startling change in his father's demeanor weeks prior also was to thank for his firm and unwavering resolve to find Deimos. And though he foolheartedly thought otherwise hours earlier, Tharsis successfully accomplished the feat of tracking him down and bringing him home.
Blinking as Phobos gently laid two fingers on the cut, a familiar whispered chant filling the room, Deimos brought his brows together in curiosity. "My father?"
"Yep. I was staying in Gadgetzan, waiting for my boat from Steamwheedle, when he contacted me."
Nodding at the words, still somewhat confused as the paladin gazed critically at his handiwork, Deimos narrowed his eyes at him. "Why were you in Gadgetzan? I thought you were in Northrend?"
A sigh of air moving past his lips, Phobos assumed a crouch as he examined a small yet dark bruise on the blood elf's abdomen. Gently probing the area, earning a small moan in protest, he stood with a frown and gestured to the bed. "Lay down. How long have you had this bruise?"
Blinking at the lack of proper response to his lingering question, Deimos gingerly complied with the demand, pushing himself onto the bed fully and slowly laying down. Though the mattress was filled with dirty and sharp bales of hay, a thin sheet and scratchy wool blanket thrown on top, he found it immensely comfortable and easy enough to lull him to sleep. His mind threatening to succumb to the comfort and ease of mind knowing his was in safe and able hands, he forced himself to consider the question directed at him. "Um… I don't really remember."
Standing over the young elf, his fingers softly probing the area in search for further internal damage, Phobos' frown deepened at the soft lump he felt at the center of the deep red bruise. Forcing himself to ignore the small moans of pain, he pressed his digits harder into the mass. Feeling it somewhat shift, he allowed his face to relax slightly; though it'd need to be taken care of by a healer as soon as possible, it wasn't life threatening quite yet.
Moving his eyes to gaze at the other scratches and bruises marring his skin, Phobos turned his mind back to the unanswered question with a small smile. "I was in Northrend. There was a slight problem getting home when I was no longer aligned with the Horde."
Grinning at the snide yet mocking tone, Deimos didn't move from his laying position as fingers began to probe a bruise on his arm. "Sorry about that."
Turning his soft and amused eyes at his cousin's face, Phobos lifted a brow. "You have no idea. We weren't exactly welcomed into any Alliance bases, and Horde were hellbent on killing us on sight."
The examining fingers putting pressure on a bruise, the young elf unthinkingly shifted his body at the uncomfortable and piercing pain that resonated from the area. Placing more concentration on remaining coherent and conscious, the blissful knowledge of going home at the forefront of his mind and the comforts of the beds lulling him to sleep, Deimos watched the other elf turn his gaze back down to his work. "Did you hear we're part of the Alliance now?"
A small scowl and frown going across his face at the eager and slight excitement that danced in his cousin's voice, Phobos spared a quick and firm glance at his face. "I did."
Brows together in confusion at the sour and grimacing features that skirted on the older paladin's face, Deimos considered the intent or meaning behind it. Perhaps his cousin was comfortable and happy with the Horde, the newly formed alignment with the Alliance would naturally displease him. Their battalion consisting entirely of Sin'dorei, the change of factions altering very little in terms of their fellow soldiers and companions, the young paladin had a difficult time deciding which faction he had preference over. While he had little experience in the Alliance, the new assimilation only months old, he could immediately identify profound differences; especially considering the diversity of races. The Horde, in his years of understanding and knowledge with the faction, seemed much more proactive in terms of tact and military movement, offering little care in terms of diplomacy if it benefited the greater good. Contrastingly, Alliance seemed keener on following political standards and decrees set in place, procedure and protocol dictating much of their timelines and decisions. Though both factions were equally productive in their own respects, the method for which they operated differed greatly.
Wincing slightly as the other elf probed a bruise on his forearm, Deimos offered his cousin a puzzled look. "Did you like fighting under the Horde flag?"
"No."
Blinking at the automatic and grumbled response, the young paladin shifted on the hay mattress and thin pillow. "So you prefer fighting for the Alliance?"
A small sigh of annoyance at the inquisitive questioning from the elf, Phobos flicked his eyes up to meet Deimos' quizzical and curious stare. "I fight under the Sin'dorei flag." The inquiring looking only deepening its intensity, the older elf was quick to continue, forcing his voice to soften considerably despite his incensed feelings on the topic. "We were betrayed by the Alliance and humans before. And now we've been betrayed by the Horde. I'll fight for the Sin'dorei and my own people."
Had he been at full health and vigor, he possibly would've argued the point with the older paladin; his own positive experiences with the humans burning bright in his mind. However, he couldn't deny the plain facts that were presented: the blood elves had been deceived by both factions in a short time span. "What are you saying? Are you stepping-"
"Deimos," Phobos began, his gaze hard and stern. Though he was typically enduring and patient with the boy, given the dire and dismal situation at hand, he couldn't bother dwindling on such matters. "Nothing has changed, other than going back to the blue and gold insignia. As with many blood elves, I'm cautious of humans."
Slowly nodding at the resolved answer, Deimos had to agree he heard that before. Weeks prior, Brightwing had mentioned it to him that many Sin'dorei weren't keen on adopting their new allies; his father and cousin apparently falling into such a category. However, he admitted that he'd also been wary of the race when first stepping foot in Stormwind City nearly a year ago. Perhaps with time and the positive experiences he had, his race would become more welcoming; as well as humans.
"They did a nice number on you," Phobos replied, removing a bandage damp with disinfectant from a long laceration on the elf's collar bone, tossing the sodden cloth to the side. "Do I even want to ask how you got into this mess?"
Smiling gratefully at the change in conversation topics, Deimos offered a small shrug of his shoulders. "Not really." Pausing as a thought came to mind, his face lit up in curiosity. "Why didn't my father come to get me? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm more than thankful you're here, but why didn't he come himself?"
Unwinding a roll of bandages constructed of hardier material, assuming the abrasion would call for such an increase in quality, Phobos glanced at him. "The portal to Theramore was down and he had no idea when your auction would take place. I was already in Gagdetzan so it was a smart choice."
"How are we getting home?"
"There's a mage meeting us here tomorrow morning. She'll port us back."
Nodding at the response, Deimos heaved a deep sigh as his body began to feel incredibly heavy and overbearing, the softness of the blanket and substandard hay mattress threatening to envelope him in a deep slumber. Void of the atrocious collar and demeaning slave lifestyle, he instead was rewarded with the prospect of home and his glorious freedom.
Eyes widening in sudden worry and thought, Deimos pushed himself up on his elbows to glance at his cousin inspecting a scabbed over wound on his shin. "Elik was taken too. We were in Stranglethorn-"
"Yeah," Phobos interrupted, nodding briskly while gently pushing the younger elf to lay flat on the bed. "I received word he was safely returned. As for the other elves at the auction with you, well, I couldn't save all of them without drawing attention to myself. You were priority – and ironically one of the most expensive and overpriced."
Smiling at the jab to his young cousin, Phobos watched him lay his head back on the pillow, not missing the grimace that passed over his face at the movement. While the external injuries weren't life threatening or severe in any fashion, he was sure there were internal maladies that possibly poised otherwise. Severe dehydration coupled with heat stroke was a nasty combination, and one that was out of his meager training of healing. Though Deimos' physique didn't seem altered or diminutive in any way, Phobos felt confident that he was malnourished as well, based on his muscle pains and lightheadedness.
About to turn his attention back to mending a dirt-filled incision on his leg, his hands froze as a sudden thought crossed his mind. Like the internal damage, his mind skirted the possibility of other potential unseen injuries; either physical or emotional.
Snapping his eyes up to consider his cousin's relaxed and eased face, Phobos softly and gracefully moved to the side of the bed to gain a better view of the elf, Deimos turning his head at the action. Blinking several times at the waiting and curious gaze looking back at him, the older elf considered the best approach. "Deimos…do you know what slave ring you were sold in?"
Brows burrowing together in puzzlement and bewilder, the elf gave a small shake of his head. "I assumed gladiator, based on the arena system in Tanaris. Why?"
Pursing his lips together at the innocent and naïve pair of eyes staring back at him, Phobos shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Sort of. It was gladiatorial and sex."
A sickening looking crossing over his features, Deimos broke the stare to gaze intently on the stitched hem of the woolen blanket.
Eyeing his cousin's downcast and aghast eyes, his anxiousness increasing at the possibility of the answer he hoped he wouldn't hear, Phobos considered his words in a delicate and fragile manner, his voice coming out soft and slow. "Deimos, I hope you understand that not all…injuries are physical. And you know you can talk to me about anything."
Unsure where his cousin was headed, the young paladin darted his skeptical and wary eyes to glance at his face.
Taking the lack of a response as a cue to continue, Phobos pushed a loose strand of hair behind his pointed ear. "I don't want you to be ashamed of anything, ok?"
Narrowing his eyes in confusion at the words, bewildered behind their intent or meaning, Deimos carefully propped himself up on his arms, mindful to move slowly. "What are you talking about?"
Sighing at again his young cousin's naitivity, his pure youthfulness shining through and showing the true elfling that he was, the older paladin knew a straight forward resolve would prove to be the best route. "Deimos, did anyone hurt you?" The blank face stared back at him; understanding not quite reaching the young elf. "Did anyone touch you…inappropriately?"
Eyes widening in shock and disgust at the question, comprehension dawning on Deimos like a crashing wave, he narrowed his eyes critically at his patiently waiting cousin. "Sick. No one…touched me…like that." Breaking as a thought came to his mind, Phobos' posture and features relaxing considerably, the young elf leaned his weight on one arm to point an accusing finger at the other elf. "Speaking of which, what the hell was up with you? I can understand putting up an act for being a buyer and all that, but what was with the touching and comments?"
Relieved and relaxed at his young cousin's preservation of his innocence and virtue, satisfied that he wasn't subjected to such trauma, Phobos allowed a small smile to grace his features. Picking up several soiled bandages from the bed, taking in the boy's tired features, he discarded the cloth to a pile on the floor. The inn room in dire need of a formal and thorough cleaning, he doubted his added trash would insult the owners of the establishment. "Yeah, I was laughing my ass off about that. You should have seen your face."
Content that his cousin seemed to be back to his normal self, the vile and revolting questions desisting, Deimos gingerly lowered himself back down to the bed. Sending a heated glare to the elf beginning to organize his supplies, the young paladin felt his tired and worn body willing him to submit to sleep, the euphoric adrenaline no longer aiding his spent being. "Thanks for that. I was worried for my ass – quite literally. I thought you were some undead with a sick fetish."
Grinning ear to ear at the annoyed voice, Phobos knew it was all in good humor. "I had to keep it interesting somehow. I just blew a huge amount of gold on you. Pay backs a bitch."
A small grin spreading on his face at the jovial words, Deimos didn't bother stifling a tired and long yawn; the other elf taking notice to such an action. He turned his head to watch the older elf wipe his hands on the front of his dark leather pants, a small pile of discarded bandages and items at his feet. "Can we leave tonight for home?"
A small yet sad smile adorning his features, Phobos considered the elf with an examining gaze. While the angry bruises and deep incisions that once painted his skin were properly seen to, he could only fathom the immense fatigue and internal pains that plagued him. While he slept during their long trek from Tanaris, he felt confident that the uncomfortable sensation of the kodo hardly supplemented as quality sleep. "The mage will be here in the morning. Get some rest."
Sighing deeply at the words, his body rejoicing at the command, Deimos keenly took a wool blanket Phobos offered in an outstretched hand. Softly and gingerly tossing it over his beaten and tired form, his dirty and soiled skin not caring at the scratchiness in the least, he slowly lowered himself back on the thin and slight pillow. While he would have complained and insulted the grim construction of the pillow a month earlier, he found the scanty and paltry article absolutely luxurious after days of sleeping on the barren ground. Though the hay mattress was lumpy and sparse in certain spots, it was a mattress nonetheless.
Wrapping the thin blanket around his form as a small chill crept over his body still only clad in the measly shorts, Deimos carefully rotated himself. His back facing the other paladin and the resonating torch glow, he eagerly closed his eyes and allowed the blissful and much needed slumber begin to overtake his consciousness. Though his head ached at his laying down position, his muscles still pulsing in pain, and his throat pleading for more moisture, his mind was gratefully tranquil and calm; the knowing prospect of going home aiding in such. In only a few hours time, he'd be laying in his own bed at home, basking in the lavish and lush comforts of his blankets and plush pillows. Though he was sure a long and lengthy lecture from his father was rightfully awaiting him, it did little to deter his firm resolve and joyousness to return home. He'd willingly take whatever lashings and punishment Tharsis would submit him too; it didn't matter. He was going home.
Phobos, as fun of a character he is to write, is sadly not mine - he belongs to my editor, Matt711, who's in the midst of publishing his own story soon. Thanks!