Bound for Freedom

Primeval Memories

POSTED: Wed Jun 10, 2020 11:58 pm

OOC: Over the course the days of 6/5/2020 through 6/8/2020 Where Amos travels from the Sosye Basin to the Aelcrest Shore.

IC:
He could hear his breathing, his heartbeat, every twist and gurgle in his gut. Though nothing was no where near as loud as the cacophony in his mouth. Souls slept around him, even his fellow bound, but Amos stirred. Gently and methodically he ground his teeth against the rope that held his collar in place, careful not to rattle the noisy alarm. Should he disturb the containers of old scrap metal tied to him and the other slave’s leashes, then his attempt would be all for naught, and he would lose all trust he had built up with his owners. The man had no clue where they were, but they had hauled ashore to gather food. Four days ago they disembarked from Portland, his owners knowing there were packs further north that may want a slave or two. They were to make their sale, and then sail back to Portland. From then, Amos did not know where they would go, and so he decided to make a break for it.

For sixteen days he was their slave, their cargo. He was to be bought by the highest bidder or traded for goods. For sixteen days he obeyed every command. He went above and beyond for his new owners. Impressed with his performance, cooking, singing, and music, they were treating him better than the other slaves. His tether was longer, he got a meal instead of scraps. The man was able to walk with his masters, should they stop somewhere. It was the reason why he was on land and not on their ship. It was the reason why the guard was asleep. He knew Amos was a good boy, he knew Amos would watch for him. He knew Amos wouldn’t cut his leash and run. He knew all this, and even let Amos play a song on his lute, which now was loosely cradled in the sleeping, guard’s arms.

However tonight Amos was bad. He was cutting his rope and running away, not before grabbing his lute, however. When finally tooth scraped harshly against tooth, the coydog froze and stared at the sleeping watchman. The man did not stir, he just kept on sleeping. This didn’t stop the god-fearing canine from watching for a few minutes, mouth around the now severed rope. He stood, slowly, damp rope now resting on his chest, still tied to his collar. He couldn’t remove it, his arms were tied behind his back by the wrists. That didn’t matter, however, not now anyway. Tonight Amos would run away, he didn’t need to get his binds off, not yet. Slowly the hybrid strode to one of his owners, one that had put too much trust in a slave. He knelt pulling his lute from the guard’s hands with his mouth. Painfully slow and with caution he bit the instrument and drew back, freeing the beautiful stringed piece from the sleeping man. Relief flooded Amos, even before he was safe and far away. Now began his trek, the neck of his lute carefully held by his mouth, rope around his wrists, but he was free. Free from his masters. He didn’t care that he didn’t know where he was, all he had to do was get away.

The night carried on. There were no shouts behind him, no torches. He was beginning to feel like he was home free, but the one thing that brought him down was his sore arms and jaw. Grinding away at the rope had made his muscles sore, and holding his instrument with his mouth was straining them. Amos had no arms to carry her, as they were stuck behind his back with his old masters’ rope. He continued on, through the pain. He’d endure it one hundred times over, if it meant he could be free. While he wanted to stop and rest, they would find him should they track him down. Should he stop in a building to hide his lute, or to rest too, they’d find him. The first, second, even third and fourth dilapidated shed or house was far too close to be safe. It wasn’t until the sun had risen over the horizon did the coydog choose his place to rest and to store his instrument. After a short sleep and a sad farewell to his lute, he ventured on, giving her a promise he would return to retrieve her.

Amos felt that his movement was faster without his music maker heavy in his jaws. He was content now, walking onwards away from the shores his previous masters had brought their small ship to. They were probably searching for him, but he was far away. All the rivers he waded through didn’t help them in their possible pursuit of the musical man. The coydog prided himself in the possibility that they would be after him. While he was their property, he was also handsome and talented. He’d fetch a pretty penny in their profession, but that was the past. He was free now, and elated he walked on to the unknown. All he had to do was come across some kind stranger who’d cut his binds. To repay them he’d sing and play music at their favorite bar and had them the tips accrued. He smiled on, bright and happy as he walked further and further away from the shores his captors claimed briefly for a camp and foraging stent.

That smile was gone. Three days had passed and he was still bound. Belly empty, body dirty and itchy. Ticks got their fill, bred, and fell off, fat from his blood. He was tired and very sore, and yet he had discovered no stranger to help him. Every adjustment he had made of his arms gave a sharp sting, the rope had cut into his flesh. Frantically he had tried to wriggle free as mosquitoes covered his face one night, sipping from him with his serrated straws. All he needed was someone, anyone to help him. As the bard stared on at the ocean from the jagged shoreline, bloodsuckers biting and crawling on his body, he felt more alone than he ever had. In Gran Humadel he had Edena, the court, and the church. In New Orleans, the gamblers seemed to be his friends, and still, Edena was there. Even when he sold himself, he had his masters and fellow slaves. On the Rum Queen’s land he was Paulina's personal slave, always at her side. Now he was all on his own, he didn’t even have his lute.

Wind brushed passed him, carried up by the ocean, and hitting the mountain at the back. Relief was wanted, but he wasn’t desperate enough to throw himself to the rocks and waves below. Somewhere up ahead, there had to be someone who’d cut the ropes that now bit into him. He had endured too much to turn back and accept shackles once more, the man desperately wanted to be free, and so Amos pressed on, slowly trekking forth, marveling at the tall mountains and recently devoured shore. Up ahead was a kind stranger, he hoped, and once his hands were free, he’d play them a beautiful song to show his gratitude. Yes, that's what he'd do, and all he needed was that stranger.
Salsola
Indentured Servant
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Scott
Luperci

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