Branded
Branded
Authors note: Here's the second chapter already, because the first chapter is too short for my liking. Fable doesn't belong to me, but Adrian and Elise are both mine. My Elsie has nothing to do with the male Hero's partner in the Fable 3 game, I just quite liked the name. Enjoy!
Chapter Two
The carrige ride to Bowertone was always a rather dreary one, but not even the light rain could sour Reaver's mood. Today was the morning of the slave auction, one of Albions few secret markets left once the new ruling began. Reaver's shadow court sacrifice would be resolved as he was certain he would aquire a cheap victim to offer, and if he was feeling generous, maybe a few other workers to help satisfy he needs.
The ride came to an end as they arrived in the Industrial section of Bowerstone. The legendary Reaver was well know throught the land, but Industrial knew him better than any one. It was here where he owned his many factories that manufactured many items and luxury goods. He knew each cobbled street down to a tee, each alley way and sewer line, every street corner and rundown tavern. Reaver made a profit from everything.
Stepping out of the carrige, and slipping through a small, wooden door set discreetly in the wall down by the river, Reaver came to a series of unerground passegways. Each was lit with a few torches, the flame reflecting off of the puddles of water that had leaked on to the floor. The stone that made up the walls was chipped, and coated in stains from previous brawls and drinking games. Reaver tutted, knowing his pristence white coat would soon be tainted. He countinued on, anyhow, lightly tapping the ground with the end of his cane, the sound echoing slightly through the halls.
Reaver came to another door, this time he stopped, knocking on the wood. He waited a moment, before a small hatch in the door opened, revealing a pair of eyes. They narrowed taking in the man before them, and watching as Reaver smiled.
'Would you be so kind as to let me in?' Reaver leaned on his cane, in a nonchalant way, calmy waiting for a respone. His voice never left the cheery octave he began with. However, the man made no move to unlock the door.
'Name?' The man stated, his voice was whiny, with a common accent. Reaver rolled his eyes.
'Do I really need to give one? Surely, I man like me is well known through these parts...' Reaver felt slightly insulted and began to loose his patients. Still, the man and door stayed put.
'If you ain't giving a name, I ain't letting you in. I don't care who you are...' Reaver rolled his eyes, pulling out his Dragonstomper.48, before landing a bullet in between the mans eyes. He didn't have all day. Noticing the lack of a handle on his side of the door, he kicked it down, before calming walking in.
The room before him was as dimly lit as the halls, but much bigger. The few tables scattered about were lined with beer, and other items one would expect to find in a secret slavers hideout. Daggers, goild coins and such forth. The men lining the benches were all dressed similarly. Discustingly.
Reaver rolled his eyes. How he hated to keep such company, even for a little white. But a neccecary task.
A rather large man trotted over, eyes never leaving the body of his recently fallen comrade. He spoke without taking Reaver in.
'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?' The man bent down, inspecting the pool of blood swarming aroung their feet. Reaver gave a low chuckle, satisfied with his reaction.
'Arjen, always a pleasure...' Reaver trailed off, scraping the blood off of the underside of his boot. Arjen looked up, meeting the eyes of the Tycoon. His eyes grew wide, realising who he'd just spoken out to. He tried to scramble up, but his stomache was met with the foot of Reaver. Arjen began to tremble, knowing to price of insulting such a figure as Reaver, and his eyes flickered to the dead body next to him. He reached up, quickly wiping his brown before laying out his arms infront of him.
'Now Reaver...Sir...I...I...never ment any disrespect...I swear!' Arjen pleaded, before his head was shoved to the ground by Reaver's cane. Reaver rolled his eyes at the pathetic display of grovelling before him, before releasing his hold.
'I expect next time I grace this hole with my precence, you let me in the door.' Reaver turned, before eyeing the other men, who had all averted their gaze from the scene as quickly as they dared to look. Reaver smirked, ignoring the spluttering behind him.
Arjen stood, shakily, wiping his balding head. 'I will be more careful of informing our new recruits of your generous buisness around here, untill then, what is it that you wish from us?' He placed his hands together, wringing them firmly to ease his nerves.
Reaver pursed his lips, and pondered. He hadn't any specific workers in mind. 'I wish to see everything you have. Don't delay, I've already wasted enough time here. Chop Chop!' Reaver banged his cane on the tiles, and as if on que, all of the men at the tables disapeared behind another door at the opposite end of the room, each returning with a various captive in chains. Like a practised routine, they lined up, in height order, the tallest to the left, ending with the smallest on the right. Not a foot could be seen out of line. 'Ahh, precision. Perfect'.
Starting from the left, Reaver slowly paced the line, stoping briefly at each candidate to take them in, and asses their form. Every slave looked similar in some ways despite age or gender. All wore the same exhausted, hope drained expression on their faces, and their eyes were all the same dead hue. Faces were pale beneath the layers of dirt and god knows what that adorned their skin, and their clothes were a tattered mess of fabric bunched together by pieces of string. All were deathly thin too.
Reaver frowned. They all looked so frail. For his planned sacrifice, this would be a problem as they could easily break before they reached their destination of wraithmarsh. And any extra servants he picked up, they would turn out to be more trouble than their worth. His brow narrowed slightly, before he stopped at a boy.
Facially, he looked around seventeen, or maybe eighteen. He still looked fairly clean shaven, with long, messy hair down to his shoulders. He couldn't tell the colour, he was filthy. Tall for his age, but obviously, he didn't compare to Reaver. However, his shoulders were quite broad, good for lifting, and other deeds. Reaver smirked. He had potential.
The boy looked up, hatred lined his face. 'Your name, boy?' Reaver politley asked, arching an eyebrow. Nothing but silence, and this annoyed Reaver. However, he still kept his calm composure. Arjen looked from the boy to Reaver in a quick, panicked way, before setlling on the boy. Stepping forward, Arjen grabbed the boys hair, harshly grabbing his head to the side.
'Master Reaver asked your name, boy, now I suggest your answer him when you're spoken to!' He roughly let go, and the boy stumbled back, barley managing to compose himself through his shackled feet and hands. Again the boy looked up, facial expression never changing. He kept still, before spitting in Reaver face.
The whole line quietly gasped, and Arjen froze. Reaver, however, slowly wiped his cheek clean, mouth mashing in to a hard line. Advancing forward, he stared at the boy, smiling now, but with a cold hatred in his eyes. Taking his cane, he roughly jabbed the boys stomache, shoving him down. With no hands to prevent the fall, the boy tumbled backwards, head hitting the hard stone, and bruising his back. To the boys credit, he never screamed, he just took a sharp intake of breath. for a second, his expression faltered, but for the most part, showed no sign of giving in. Reaver cocked his head, taking his Dragonstomper.48 from it's holster. He took aim. 'Name.' He asked, one final time. Silence, followed by a pistol click.
'Adrian!' Someone screamed, voice filled with desperation and terror. A girls voice, coming from the very bottom of the line. All heads turned to her; all but Reaver's and the boy's. 'Adrian! That's his name! Adrian!' She shouted again, and out of the corner of Reaver's eye, a guard covered her mouth. He leaned in close, and whispered harshly.
'Shut your mouth when your not spoken too you bitch!' Before landing her a quick slap to the face. She recoiled into the man, before whimpering, and growing silent. The boy's face twitched, and Reaver could see the anger in the boy's eyes. Reaver ceased all hold on the boy, leaving him to scramble up much like Arjen before.
'Adrian is your name?' Reaver spoke in a cheery sing-song voice, as if oblivious to the scene that just took place? He pointed a slender, gloved finger toward the end of the line, before adding 'And i'll take a wager, and guess that's your..oh...' He rested a hand on his face, before pretending to speculate. '..Sister?' He smirked when the boy, Adrian, launched forward, only held back just in time by a couple of the heavily built guards.
Slowly, and deliberatly, Reaver turned, step by step slinking down the end of the line, blatently enjoying the fury on Adrian's face. 'You leave her alone, you bastard!' He spat, still struggling to free himself from the guards grip. Reaver chuckled, reaching the end of the line.
His sister was much smaller than him, at the very end of the display, and very thin in frame too. Her long hair hung limp over her face, and much like her brothers, it was hard to tell the natural colour under all the dirt. Reaver tilted his head, realising she looked around the age of thirteen. 'Oooh, a younger sister at that!' He called down, ignoring the stream of insults and painful grunts that came back. Bending down, he lifted a finger under her chin, raising her head. The first thing he saw were her eyes, a deep brown in colour and filled with tears that matched the streaks running down her face. Her face was soft in regards to her features, bar the dark bruises scattered over her skin. She wore a weary expression, mixed with fear. 'What's your name my dear? Oh, and do be more compliant than your brother over there' He inclined his head down the line.
The girl tensed up, unsure of what to do. She had only given her brothers name out of pure fear for his life. She was confused as to why he had not given it himself in the first place, what was the harm in giving a name? She knew her brother could be defiant, he was known for trying to act the hero, and protect her. But from the look of her brothers unconscious mess on the floor, she decided to give in. 'E...Elise' she croaked, and Reaver smiled. He wiped under her eye with a gloved finger, before she droped her gaze.
'A beautiful name, my dear.' He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.
Reaver stood, taking in a breath, a look of victory adorned his face. Perhaps in a few years, Elise would become a valuable asset of pleasure to him, but for now he would settle for her to do mediocre tasks, like cleaning. Her brother, on the other hand, would be more trouble. For a second, he hovered on the decision of sacrificing him to the courts, but soon passed off of that. He had too much youth and promise of hard chores to give him up, pluss, Reaver would relish in the task of breaking his spirit. With her brother around, Elise would be more willing to comply.
Decision made, Reaver adressed Arjen, throwing him a large bag of gold from inside his coat pocket. 'I'll take the brother and sister' he stated, as he lazily watched Arjen fumble, and try to catch the bag, greed flashing in his eyes.
'Done deal Sir, very well chosen!' Arjen murmured, more focused on rumaging through the bag. Reaver inclined for a few guards to lead Elise outside, and drag a still unconscious Adrian along side her. Reaver looked at the line again, eyes laying on a middle aged man, who looked capable enough of walking without collapsing. He almost forgot of his original task in Bowerstone, and settled on him being an able sacrifice.
'The gold should cover him too' he spoke as he pointed a finger, before watching him be escorted with the others. 'Do load them in carefully, not too much filth on my seats, rather expensive...' Reaver ordered, hand hovering over his pistol holster as a warning. 'With descresion from the law, chop chop!' He claped his hands, and the group hurried.
With a grand flourish of his coat, reaver diapeared down the hall, with a victorious stride. Oh how the fun would soon begin.