misterfoz
Posts 27
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Vittra sat huddled from the rain in the doorway of a derelict building on the Trinity Dock, choking down some rotten food scraps found on the stinking rubbish heap next to him, and reflected bitterly on 'freedom', and 'new beginnings'. His mood further soured by a fat drop of water falling onto the back of his neck and running coldly under his clothing. Well, his rags.
Life had been different. Vittra had been born in the underdark, a slave to a noble Drow house. Vittra would be the first to admit that the early years in the slave pens had been no bed of roses. No loyalty, no friendship, no family, every Gnome scrapping to survive, and striving to avoid the displeasure of their dark Elven masters (also important if your goal was to survive). While not strong, however, Vittra had been sly, cunning, and very fast. He had survived when many hadn't, and he had got good at taking care of himself in that atmosphere of casual violence and cheap, easy death. The lives of the Svirfneblin had meant nothing to their masters, and little more to the gnomes themselves.
By the time Vittra hit adulthood he had got very good at handling himself. So good, in fact, that he caught the eye of the overseer for his pen. Often not a good thing, but in this case Vittra viewed it as the best thing that had ever happened to him. A common entertainment for the Drow was pit fighting, where Gnome slaves fought to the death while their masters looked on, winning and losing bets, or just enjoying blood and pain. Vittra was terrified the first time he was thrown into the pit with another, equally terrified Gnome. As the other Gnome looked at him in fear and indecision Vittra snatched up a blade from the dirt floor and rammed it into his eye. Just like that it was over. Vittra's masters were pleased, for the other slave had belonged to a rival house, and the beating he received for not making more of a show of it was not too severe.
As time passed Vittra won again and again, and his lot in life improved. Life was cheap in the pens, always had been, so he slew his fellow Svirfneblin without regret. He was moved into a slave pen of his own, even given a bucket for waste so he did not have to soil the floor on which he slept. He was given food that was not rotten to keep him healthy. He had a tattered blanket that no one tried to steal. He was even, on occasion, brought women. The luxury of all of this was so much that he did not mind the Drow staying to watch when they brought the women. Truly, he was living like a King! And all he had to do was kill. At the time he had laughed at how easy it was.
Then came a fateful day when he was told he was being moved to a tournament. Drow familes from far and wide were having a pit contest, and the best slave fighters were being taken. And Vittra was his master's best. The tournament was days away, and some of the travel would be on the surface, at night. Vittra had never been outside, and the smells and sounds unnerved him as the little barred wagon he was locked in creaked through the night.
The guards at the front of the column fell to the ground, and Vittra wondered why. Then everything was chaos. The bright light of torches, screams in Elven and Drow, steel and blood flying in the dim moonlight. And then his cage open, and being dragged out and carried away by a fair skinned Elf. Later, his rescuers were unable to understand Vittra's woe. They had rescued him, they said. He was free. Free! Vittra spat. Why the hells would he want to be freed from his life of luxury? He could go on his way, they said. Make a new life. Vittra spat again. Go where? And who would feed him? Who would give him a cell to sleep in? A blanket to wrap around him? His fury continued to simmer as his 'rescuers', three surface Elves, settled down to sleep for the night, after having travelled some distance from the ambush site.
Once they were sleeping Vittra, moving silently and with care, slipped a knife from one of their packs. After the throats were slit, he took anything of else of value they had with them, and considered his option. He could not return to his underdark life. He regretted that, but had to accept it. He did not know the way back, and even if he did he would be tortured to death as a runaway. The fools had ruined everything!
The only choice left was to move on, and to survive. He had survived before, after all.
The road took him to where he was now. A ruined building, by a midden, in the rain. He had no money, had nothing really except the skills he had learned in the pens a lifetime ago. Still, skills like that were often valuable to others. Vittra settled down to rest. Later, when the taverns were shut and their patrons stumbling drunkenly home, he would kill someone small for their clothes and, more presentable, would seek work tomorrow.
He wondered what Trinity would bring him.
edited by misterfoz on 7/1/2010
edited by misterfoz on 7/1/2010
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