I don’t have a lot of memories from my time before the Petrel. I guess there was too much terrible shit happening for a kid’s brain. To be honest I don’t really like to dwell on that period. But here goes.
My earliest memories are grim. I never knew what my parents looked like, or the joy of childhood. We were to be soldiers, cold weapons of war. We spent a lot of time cleaning, working dirty jobs, collecting food in the mountains. I remember sparing with other kids and getting my ass beat. I was a scrawny kid. If you couldn’t take anyone down you’d go hungry for the night. I spent a lot of evenings listening to my stomach growl… I think the older kids were taught more advanced stuff, strategy and all that, but I didn’t get the chance to go this far.
There’s not a lot of images in my memories of the attack. I know it happened at night because I was woken up by the sound of people fighting. I tried to hide but they caught me soon after. From that point on I had a bag over my head and it wouldn’t come off until the auction block. After that it’s a blur of unpleasant and sensations.
I remember walking in the dark for days on end. The roughness of the bag chaffing my face, the constant pain of the irons around my wrists and ankles. I remember the cracking of the whip more than the pain it caused me. I had nightmare about it long after I got out. Back on the Petrel I used to wake up in the middle of the night when the sails snapped in the wind. Took me a while to get used to it. I think a lot of us didn’t make it, that or they were taken somewhere else. I remember the smell of my flesh burning when they branded me. Sometimes when I look at it for too long it’s like I can still smell it. It’s not the only thing I brought back from those tunnels though. I picked up a few words. Beast, half-wit, monster, slave…
We crawled for what seemed like an eternity, ever deeper in the Underdark. Most likely it was a few weeks, a month at most. But at the time it felt like it was gonna be my whole life. I don’t know what kept me going, fear, spite, will… Most of my fellow captive weren’t so fortunate. Everyday the ringing of our shackles grew quieter. Were they abandoned to the deep or simply taken somewhere else ? I guess I’ll never know. I’m not sure if knowing would make me feel any better.
My last day underground is the
first I have vivid memories of. It was the day of the auction.
For
the first time since my capture I was able to open my eyes. It was
overwhelming at first. I think we were underground but there was so
much light. Weird floating crystals, giant mushrooms, fires that shed
no heat… Strange lights that shown down on even stranger folks.
They stripped us down to the bare minimum and made us stand on
dais. It was in the middle of a bustling market. Dark elves rich and
poor were going about their business. They were gawking at us,
browsing for goods like they would for a piece of meat.
Some of them met my gaze, and
it was like they were looking right through me, like I wasn’t
really there. That’s when I realized how they saw me. Expandable. A
commodity to use and discard. Just another piece of furniture for the
house. Meat.
I remember feeling a rage like never before. It
was churning in my guts like I was gonna burn up from the inside out.
Before I could process all of this the auctioneer grabbed my face to
show me off to the crowd.
When I try to remember the next
moments of this memory, its like I’m outside of my body, just
watching the scene unfold. He’s distracted, I pull free from him
and then bite his pinkie and ring finger off and spit them on the
dais. There’s a brief moment of confusion before his helpers start
beating me to a pulp. I don’t remember any pain, but I let myself
fall on the planks. I knew this was the end. In front of me were
those two fingers, strange bloodied little shapes. They looked so out
of place laying there alone, it was almost funny. I remember thinking
“what a strange sight to die to”…
Then there was a voice, raspy
and sarcastic but it commended respect. He spoke only a few words and
the chaos stopped. In retrospect maybe there was some magic in there
too… But anyway, the beating stopped. I was so beaten up at this
point that my eyes had swollen shut. I couldn’t make out much but I
heard the raspy voice argue with the pained one of the auctioneer. It
seemed like they wouldn’t find an agreement at first, the
conversation was heating up. but soon a heavy pouch fell on the dais,
spilling pieces of gold and jewels.
There was silence. A
disgruntled approbation… And then arms wrapped around my shoulders
and legs. I felt myself being lifted from the planks, I tried to
fight it but at this point all strength had left me. The arms were
thin, but with a wiry strength that kept me from flailing. But it
wasn’t harsh like the irons that he took off my neck and hands. It
was confident, secure, reassuring.
After what felt like a lifetime of hurt, after I had been ready to give up, I heard the first compassionate words in my life. The words that would give me my freedom.
- Stay with me kid. We’re getting out of here.