I'll post his adventure with the slave traders later.

The northern half of Elsweyr is made up of desert while the southern half is made up of tropical rainforest. If you followed Marcel Rhodes' story about Khajjit (A Study in Velvet) I believe it's mentioned that the protagonist is from the South while his companions are from the North.

Prologue
Part 3


When Herald woke up, he was surrounded by darkness and the growling of thunderstorm, which seemed to come from a distant world. He felt the scathing pain in his head from the strike, but soon it was taken over by the cold and damp that was persistently cutting into his body. It was like millions of needles piercing into his bones, yet the skin was too numb to feel the pain. He attempted to stretch his limbs, but none of them could move. At first Harold thought he was paralyzed; but when his strength had recovered a little, he realized that he was tied and had been put into a sack. As his sense returned gradually, he could smell the decayed grass and dead clams that the sack had formerly contained, reminding him that the sack could have belonged to a pearl diver. He felt a flat board under his body shaking and bouncing, which seemed to be a cart rolling on a muddy and stony road. Slowly the memory of his encounter with the slave traders returned to him, and it didn’t take long for Herald to recall their conversation: the slave traders were taking him to their cave and would probably sell him to “merchants”. Not much I can do now to escape, he thought, for the string that tied his feet and hands was damp from the rain, and cut into his flesh like sharp razors.

Only a short moment later the cart halted. Some vague conversation reached Herald’s ears through the storm.

“Hurry! Hurry Quaynd! Open the damned gate!”

“I’m trying! It’s too dark! I can’t find the key hole!”

Hurried by the other slave traders, it seemed Quaynd only became slower. Finally as the gate creak opened, the cart was moving again, and the rain seemed to have ceased. Apparently they were inside a cave.

“Get him out!” Said one man; the other two grabbed the bottom of the sack and lifted it up, and dumped Herald out upside-down. His head fell on the rock below, and he cried out at the crushing pain. He tried to reach the wound with his hand, but the wet string held it firmly behind his back.

The cave was dimly lit by a few torches fixed on the wall; Herald could barely discern the faces of the slave traders. Quaynd and Eshyo lifted him up from the ground.

“Do we have any spare room in the slaves’ quarter?” Asked Tedril; his green robe was steaming like being toasted. Herald watched in bewilderment. What is he doing? He thought, is his robe drying itself?
“I think we do…” Said Quaynd, “a few cells at the end of the row.”

“No, we don’t.” Eshyo argued, “Don’t you remember a thing? Just two days ago we caught three of those lizard men. And no, I’m not risking them to escape by putting two in a cell.”

“The merchant will be here tomorrow, and I’m sure he will take him away. Just lock him in the storage room. Eshyo, your task tonight is to watch him.”

“Watch him? I have been walking all day, Ted, I really need some rest! He’ll be fine in the storage by himself…”

“You dare arguing with me?”

“… No… I will take care of him.” Said Eshyo, staring at Herald as though he had killed his parents.

“Good.” Said Tedril, “Quaynd, free his feet, and escort him to the storage room with Eshyo. Make sure he’s incapacitated.”

Herald was glad to be on his feet again. When the string tied around the ankles was loosened, a stream of warmth rushed into his feet and melted the numbness. Very soon the warmth turned into thousands of needles piercing his skin; unprepared for the sudden pain, Herald fell to his knees.

“Get up! Are you waiting for someone to carry you?” Yelled Eshyo, and kicked Herald in the buttock.

The cave was not deep, but Herald’s hurting feet took them much time to reach the storage room. Along the narrow corridors, a few oil lamps were mounted on the wall to illuminate the darkness; mixed with fume, dust, and the odor from dead creatures, the air was almost unbearable to breathe. The only comfort for Herald was the nearly straight route, despite the two forks they encountered along the way. He quietly memorized the surroundings of each turn and break, though he had no clue how to escape from this living hell.

The storage room was no more than a barred area in a stone chamber. A wall built with intercrossing wood strips dissected the room from the middle, and turned the inner half of the room – the “storage room” – into a caged prison cell. A door was opened in the center of the wall, allowing a passage through the stocking area, which eased the extraction of goods. Though the other half of the chamber seemed to be excessive, it was a common arrangement among the merchants’ warehouses, and even Imperial strongholds. This part of the room was often used as a temporary storage for less valuable or durable, and frequently moved goods. When items were to stay longer or must be well secured, they were placed in the “prison cell”.

However, when Herald entered the storage room, escorted by Quaynd and Eshyo, he didn’t see the prosperity of fortunate merchants; only a few barrels and urns, covered by dirt, were sitting in the dark corner. In the inner cell, a large wooden crate seemed to be the only inventory.

“We need to move that box.” Said Quaynd, his eyes were fixed on the wooden crate.

“For Azura’s sake, Quaynd! I’m too exhausted to move anything, even my own legs! The crate is locked and this little creature has no way to open it once he’s locked up.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh!” Quaynd turned around and scanned the dim corridor behind him, then shut the door to the stone chamber. “You must stop mentioning the Prince, before we both get killed!”

Eshyo seemed to realize his mistake; unlike usual, he did not argue with Quaynd, and turned his anger to Herald.

“Hey, you!” He said, “Don’t even think about that crate! The merchant will come in just a few hours, and if you behave well, we’ll sell you first. Hehehehehaha!”

Quaynd walked towards one of the barrels in the corner, and opened it.

“Eshyo, are we out of bracers?”

“Perhaps. Ted probably forgot about the Argonian we caught yesterday, she’s wearing the last bracer.”

“But Ted wants us to incapacitate him!”

“Not a problem!” Said Eshyo, while walking towards Herald with a hideous smile; then he raised his fist.
“No, Eshyo, we can’t hurt him any more before the merchant has paid the price. It will be fine to leave him without the bracer; as long as you keep an eye on him, that is.”

“You mean I have to stay here and watch him, while YOU go take a damned rest? No way! For Azu…”

“Correct, this is indeed what Ted had told you to do; and I don’t think I will get any rest either, Ted probably has work for me too.” Said Quaynd, and left the stone chamber.

Doubtlessly, all the anger in Eshyo’s chest would be released onto Herald. He threw him into the storage room, slam shut the door, and hanged on it the biggest lock he could find in the barrel. But still he seemed to be nervous, pacing back and forth in front of the cell, as though Herald, who might appeared to him as a full barrel of Skooma, would escape from him right under his nose. Herald found himself a comfortable position on the wooden crate, and listened to Eshyo murmuring foul wishes for Quaynd and Tedril – apparently he was not worried about Herald escaping, but vexed by the maltreatment from his fellows.

This post has been edited by Deutschland: Mar 14 2008, 10:22 PM

question: do you think the use of words and phrases sound weird? I'm trying to make the language sound less modern, but do you think it's working?

I like this very much so far. Very well written, an interesting plot (so far anyway - still early), nicely drawn characters. Yep, on my "to watch" list now.



Can't say that I'd really noticed to be honest It certainly didn't come across as intrusive or out of character - which is a good thing. Keep it up, this is looking really promising.

lol thanks. unfortunately, after one more update we'll have to wait till I finish writing chapter one, which I haven't started yet.

Finally Eshyo sat down on a barrel, and soon started snoring. A day and night’s fatiguing travel had certainly exhausted him. Herald, though not less fatigued, had no interest in his possibly the last good night of sleep. He could hardly believe that he was going to be sold as a slave, while his new life as an honorable Imperial soldier had just begun. He knew exactly what Tedril meant by “incapacitating” him. It was the cursed bracer worn by Sanja, which drains all the strength from the wearer, leaving only enough to perform the works assigned by the master. Though the slave traders were out of bracers, the “merchant” coming to buy him would certainly not let him walk around without it. He must find a way out of there, before it was too late – only a few hours left.

He searched around the storage room; there was nothing firm enough to break the wall or the lock. He examined the wooden crate; it was secured by a strange lock mounted inside the crate, leaving only a lock hole on the lid. The edges were reinforced by rusty iron railing. At the corners of the crate where railings meet, the joints seemed very sharp. Herald felt the string tying his hands together with a finger; it seemed to be braided with grass. Might as well free my hands with it. After being soaked in water all day long, the string was very easy to cut. While caressing his injured wrists, Herald was looking for a way to get through the wooden fencing. He thought about breaking the door with brutal force, which was no difficult task for him, but the noise would certainly alarm Eshyo. Maybe I should wait till the merchant get here, he thought, then I can fight my way out; or even better, the merchant might forget to bring his bracers.

Sitting back on the crate, Herald managed to calm down with the breathing exercise taught by his father. “The voidness of the mind is the key. Our mind is always filled with thoughts and memories of trivial matters surrounding us; without clearing them, it cannot concentrate on the intended task, be it lifting a burden, swinging a sword, or casting a magic.” He wanted Herald to practice the breathing exercise every night, which he invented to help vacating his mind of trivial thoughts. However as a child, Herald had neither the patience nor the passion for the exercise, and often cheated through it, thinking about games he would play with friends. At this moment, though, Herald could only hope that the exercise would recover him faster from the exhaustion. He took a deep breath, relaxed every single muscle in his body, and imagined a golden sun suspending between his eyes, shining warmly on a peaceful ocean in his stomach. The sun would slowly heat up the ocean, which in turn formed warm streams flowing through his limbs. “Your smooth breath can help ridding the superfluous thoughts encumbering your mind.” He repeated his father’s words, and his breath was so slow and gentle, that even a feather hanging in front of his nostril would not be disturbed. Though everything he saw, the sun, the ocean, and the streams were all imagined in his mind, the effect was surprisingly strong: his legs were no longer sore, his hands were no longer shaking from fear and cold, and his mind had never been as free as it was.

After a while, Herald slowly opened his eyes. He no longer needed the projected image to keep his mind free, and intriguingly, the cave seemed a little different. Thought still dark and odorous, it was no longer depressing; though still as quiet as winter nights, Herald could hear every little noise made by the tiny creatures crawling beneath the ground. He felt his mind was expanding out of his body, dissolving into the world surrounding him, and became part of it. Eshyo was still half lying on the barrels, snoring as loud as the thunders outside the cave. Only if I could read his mind, thought Herald, trying to amuse himself, then I would know what he’s dreaming about. Suddenly, an object in Eshyo’s hand caught his eyes. It was a large key, dangling loosely on one of his relaxed fingers. Must be the key to the lock on the cage door! He thought. If I can get it then I’ll be free! Then something strange caught his eyes.

The key seemed to have moved a little.

There’s wind in the cave? Oh, that’s not possible; it must have been an illusion. Suddenly a word popped out into his mind: telekinesis! He remembered the spell Sanja had taught him:

“Fine, fine. Shut your eyes, and say ‘Dalaiá er avásh’. Then look at the stone, and concentrate your mind.”

Herald tried once again the trick which he failed innumerable times, at the key. It worked. Herald was in control of the key, and though only for a very brief moment, he managed to take it off from Eshyo’s finger. When the spell wore out, it fell on the ground with a happy clink.

Being a novice of any spell casting, Herald could only move the key for less than a foot, before he had to cast again; and as the spell drained his energy rapidly, it moved slower and slower. But eventually the key reached Herald’s hand, and in just a few minutes, he was no longer in the storage room.

Guided by his memory, Herald advanced quickly along the corridor leading out of the storage room. Every turn was familiar, and the forks could not be missed. From the training he received as a scout, jogging quietly was no challenge for him. Inspired by the night-walking creatures, the scouts believed that their bare feet could provide the best silence, for the force of each step was spread across every piece of muscle on their legs. However, many masters in stealth movement insisted that a well made pair of shoes would be more effective, while also protecting the wearer’s feet from ridged terrains. No matter who was correct, Herald had no choice at this moment about whether to walk with shoes on, as they were left in the farmhouse the night before.

It seems like the slave traders were not expecting his escape; there was nothing alive along the way. The escape seemed quite easy, so easy that he felt auspicious. Soon his fear was proved to be rational. A heavy iron door blocked a narrow corridor, but he could neither find a handle nor a key hole to open it – and nor could he open it at all. The villains were apparently cleverer than he expected: the entrance was meant to be an entrance only, so that escaping slaves would have to venture their way through the darkness and danger of unknown passages deeper in the cave. Such device was not unacquainted by Herald; the secret escapeways under the Imperial castles were often set up in a similar fashion so enemies could not sneak into the castles through them.

So be it, thought Herald. He turned around, and headed towards the forks. There were only two branch passages between the storage room and the iron door, and as Herald discovered, one of them led into another one-way iron door which he could not open, and the other, into a collapsed dead end. Where did Quaynd go, as there seems to be no way out of the corridor? Bewildered, Herald paced back and forth along the passages. Time was passing, and Eshyo could wake up and catch him at any moment. Could there be a trap door or a hidden entrance at the dead end? He returned to the collapsed rocks, examined every nook and cranny, and attempted to move every piece of stone, but nothing seemed interesting – except a few footprints on an oddly flat sandy area near the sparkling oil lamp on the wall. The footprints were fresh, though very shallow, and the fact that they did not have toes assured Herald that they were not his own. But most intriguingly, they were all pointed at the oil lamp! So, someone stopped at this dead end, and inspected the lamp. Thought Herald, and did the same thing. Was the person adding oil to it? Apparently not, the jar is almost empty. Then it must be some kind of gear to open a secret door! Herald was so proud of his discovery that he almost laughed loudly. Those pathetic slave traders are no match to an Imperial scout!

He grasped the lamp firmly and tried to move it. Just as he expected, the lamp was easily pull out from the wall, then made a snap and was again held in place. Herald turned and looked at the large rocks forming the dead end, where he expected the miracle to happen. Nothing seemed to be moving, but he heard a slight crackling noise above his head. Having yet a chance to think about what was happening, his well trained instinct had already force him to spring backwards with all the energy he could gather in a blink of time. A massive piece of rock fell from the ceiling, and with but a muffled punch, landed on the sand where Herald was standing.

Frightened by the deadly trap that almost killed him, Herald gasped and began to feel his heart pounding as brutally as the fallen rock itself. Again, they are indeed no match to an Imperial scout. Thought Herald, and examined the trap. It was indeed a part of the ceiling, round and flat, like the grinders in a windmill. Four thin but sturdy chains linked it to the ceiling, which must have been used to lift the rock back to position. An idea entered Herald’s mind, as he gazed upon the dark breach in the ceiling, left by the rock: this could be how the slave traders exited the corridor! They stood on this escalator, triggered some device, and poof! Out of here they were! He placed himself on the escalator. But where’s the device that triggers the lifting? Oh yes, the lamp! Herald grasped the lamp again, and felt that the only way it could move was back into the wall. He pushed, but nothing happened. He stepped off the rock quickly, fearing another trap, though it did not take place. The lamp seemed to be of no use. The hell with the escalator! Herald took a few steps back, with a short sprint he leaped on top of the rock; his left hand caught the edge of a cavity on the wall and pulled himself up, while his right foot aided with a downward thrust against the wall. The trainings paid off handsomely, his right hand clenched upon the edge of the breach just as he began to fall.

Climbing up to the “second floor”, Herald found himself in a dead end of another dimly lit passage. At the other end of it, though, there seemed to be a large bright room. He moved carefully with his back against the wall, while sprinting quietly from shadow to shadow. When he reached the end of the passage, he could only curse the one who built the cave. The large room in front of him seemed to be the hub of five passages spiking out like the rims of a wheel, each connecting the entrance of a passage to the platform in the middle of the room with a hanging bridge about the length of a man. Around ten feet underneath the platform and the bridges was a puddle of water. Clearly, it was built so that one had to pass through the platform to reach another passage, and both the hanging bridges and the water below would reveal the trespassers with a lot of noises. The room was lit by four torches on the four corners of the platform, on which there were a bed, two hammocks, a table, a few crates and barrels, a soundly sleeping Tedril in the bed, and a busily working Quaynd at the table. Luckily, he was not facing the passage in which Herald was standing.

It’s time to show the true color of a scout! Thought Herald. He knew that if he was able to reach to the platform, then he could move around by holding on to the edge of the wooden floor. But how can one pass the bridge without making noises? Herald’s sight rested on the railing strings on the side of the bridge for travelers to hold on to. They were merely tied to the wooden posts at the end of the bridge, and would not make noise if one hung upon them. Herald did not hesitate. He first lowered himself down at the edge of the entrance, with his hand holding the post and his body in midair, then grabbed the railing string, and slowly shifted his weight upon it. The string supported his body steadily and quietly. When he had both hands on the string, he moved further on, and finally reached the edge of the platform. It was such a relief that he felt he was standing on the solid ground again.

Now he must pick an entrance. There were five entrances, with one belonging to the passage he came from, and four others. One of them must lead to the cave exit! Herald decided to try his luck, and picked the passage immediately to the right – the only other one ouside Quaynd’s sight.

As soon as he stepped into the engulfing darkness of the corridor, his keen intuition stirred up in him a deep sense of grief and agony. Maybe it was the air that turned eerie; or perhaps some unperceivable sorrowful groan was insidiously plucking his heart. He wanted to turn back, yet his curiosity kept him moving on, until he reached the end of the passage, and found a closed trap door on the ground. Herald could hear someone weeping.

He lay down on his stomach, and carefully lifted up the trap door a little. It was heavy and moldy, but the hinge was as smooth as new. Intolerably foul smelling air flooded out of the gap, almost making Herald vomit. He peeked into the gap, and there, he found the most horrible scene he had ever in his life beheld.

Herald closed the trap door, and sneaked back to the entrance. He rested in a smear of shadow, trying to think what to do next, but the vision haunted him like a nightmare. The very night he could be there himself, inside a living and wriggling plant, surrounded by giant tentacles like a cage, among many other such creatures each with a slave inside, dead or half-dead.

Still fighting with the nausea, he observed the slave traders’ “living room” carefully, hoping to find clues about the direction of the exit. The furniture, crates and barrels were all placed in the corners of the platform, leaving convenient space for traffic through the bridges. Herald asked himself: in a small house, where would you see the beds and the tables? The answer was: to be safe and warm during nights, one often placed the beds in the far end, away from the door; and to be convenient during the day, the tables were often placed near the door. So, if the platform was a house, where would the “door” be, according to the location of the bed and the table? Herald’s sight stopped at the bridge next to Quaynd, and far away from Tedril’s bed. One would never feel comfortable sleeping next to the door.

Suddenly the sound of hasty running caught Herald’s attention. Eshyo’s stumpy frame emerged from the passage leading to the storage room. Obviously, he had woken up and found his bird flown.

“The Imperial!” yelled Eshyo, waking Tedril up, “the Imperial has escaped!”
“What?! How did he do that?”
“I don’t know… My key is gone!”
Herald remembered that he still had the key.
“Your key? Which lock did you use?”
“The biggest one…”
“Oh you blighted fool!” Tedril paid Eshyo a loud and crispy slap on his face, “that’s the same lock as the one on the crate! Who cares about the worthless Imperial, the crate’s got all our lives in it! All three of us!”

“Well… you got another key to it right?” Eshyo caressed his swollen cheek, “We can check if it’s still in there, he shouldn’t know it’s the same lock…”

“Alright, we’ll go and see. If it’s gone, you are the first to be sold in place of the Imperial.”
Eshyo and Quaynd followed the outraged Tedril into the passage. Herald rushed onto the platform, and headed for the bridge he was looking at. He had no doubt that it must be the way to the exit, because when Tedril first heard about Herald’s fleet, he turned and glanced at it – he must be expecting the merchant to come from that direction!

But when he saw the tools and weapons leaning against the table, he stopped to ponder about a way to revenge those villainous slave traders. If he followed them, and waited until they were in the storage room checking out the crate, then he could seal the escalator, and trap them in the dungeon forever! And then, he would free the slaves, and become a hero celebrated in many towns and villages, like the Nerevarine. But he frowned and hesitated upon the thoughts of those slaves. The vision was back to him, the monstrous plants, dead bodies, the slaves weeping and mourning for them, the fetor of decayed flesh and excrements... It was not living hell, it was hell itself. Herald would never go back to such place again. I’ll just go to Balmora as quickly as I can, he thought, and tell the Blades master; he will send men to straighten it out.

Having his mind made, Herald dashed into the passage leading to the beautiful world outside, which to him meant even more than the heaven. His instinct never deceived him. The cave became brighter and brighter, as his spirit did; and when he finally saw the day light breaking through the wooden gate up ahead, he felt his right foot caught by a string.

A trap! Having no time to think, Herald concentrated all his strength on the legs, and leaped forward as far as he could. But it was still too late; something long and dull hit the back of his neck, and knocked him out.


End of Prologue

Nice story mate, I'm thinking about putting one up myself.