#derithas

[harthloch]

“They’ll never let you forget...”

“I’m sorry.”

[harthloch]

“Seriously Black Spirit? You failed the enhancement, fuck off!”

[harthloch]

Trading was something unknown to the former slave. Work for the rich, or at least to make the rich richer. On the other hand, now he was conducting trade, or at least running the goods for the company, protecting and defending the stock as and when needed. He enjoyed a sense of work, the idea of earning himself his own freedom as he paid back the debt for his price.

He blinked, the harsh sun of the East beginning to turn his cheeks a soft pink as he rode towards it. The tanning of his chest only made to accentuate the broad clan tattoo on his chest. The abstract circles growing outwards from the epicentre of his heart, covering the left side of his chest. Broad lines framed the art, clear boundaries down the centre of his chest and marking out the lines of his flank, a bordered piece of art matched on the opposing side of his back.

Focus from his own art was snatched from him as he spied a man break from the tree line. Derithas felt his heart shift a gear, stepping up to race and prepare his body for what may be a confrontation. A wooden curve behind the figures back, at a glance a bow. The loud drum of hooves on a dirt road drowned out the world around him as they raced closer still. The man turned, much to the Musa’s relief. A fishing rod, not a weapon, a soft sigh relaxing over his lips as his shoulders lowered, the grip on his blade loosened and returned to control his wagon.

Perhaps his suspicious disposition hadn’t faded after all. Derithas was starting to find the threat of bandits a curious thing though;

‘Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance.’

They held weapons but they themselves could never become weapons without training. The confidence of false dominance they assumed because they ambush as they will. The Musa shook his head, a slap of the reigns to encourage the horses to make haste to Altinova.

Of course, he had more pleasant things to ponder on the road to the markets, he was more than happy to find they could both speak the Median tongue...

[harthloch]

He was soon learning, freedom can take you anywhere.