500+
J'adore had allowed himself to slip from his duties for a morning, guilt ridden and tentative none the less. His travels had brought him to the coast. Sea salted air filled his lungs, refreshing and bitter at the same time. His thoughts were neither here nor there as his white eyes scanned the horizon. The crashing of the waves filled his ears as he closed his eyes to listen more. Listen to the sounds of the coast. What he heard was that and more. Between the crashing water and the hiss of air there was a call, a scream. Though it was not in the English J'adore had grown used to hearing. It was different, forgein in fact. A language J'adore would recognise when the owner of the voice came closer. 'Ajutor! Ajutor!' After a few moments of mental searching he recognised the sound. The voice was calling for help. White eyes searched the coast rapidly for the source of the voice, finally the white orbs hit a silver shaded form, climbing onto the beach. The form, a woman's, was soaked. So satchel at the ready he lept from where he stood, higher up of the cliffs, and hurried down to the beach.
Kneeling down beside the woman, J'adore swept a woven towel over her. The woman pulled the cloth tighter around her, glad to be warmer, even if it was just a fraction. "Mulţumesc." she said, still coughing up salt water. She was frail, malnourished and exhausted as far as her saviour could tell. She was made up of a snow white base, with shadings of silver, finished off with a few flecks of a darker silver. Her eyes were the purest gold, but instead of shining, they were dull and pained. A harsh pink scar marred her face slightly, it was a recent injury. The only other mark on her was a dull blood red tattoo on her left shoulder. It was made up of an upside down cresent moon, cupping a wolf's paw.
It was a slave mark, but not one J'adore particularly recognised. He knew why it was the dull red shade however, he had lived around ports and travel far enough to know that most large slave traders marked their 'stock'. Some had a color code to them, signifying what they specialised in. Red, was the mark for a whore.
The slave girl wasn't clothed, with the exception of a soft pink scar which hung around her neck. J'adore reached over to her and attempted to removed the accessory, 'Come here, lemme get this of of you'. The slave squirmed in terror and let out a broken squeal. "Nu, te rog, opreşte-te!" Her eyes light up in fear, but the Spaniard managed to calm her, finally sourcing the language she used. Romanian. ''Eu nu am de gând să te rănesc, promit'. The woman nodded her response and allowed her scarf to be removed.
'Do you speak English? Engleză?' The male asked, almost gasping at the sores on her neck. 'A... leetle', she said with with a shy nod. 'You?' she asked pointing to the male before her. J'adore knew what she meant. 'J'adore Austral'. The woman smiled slightly, pointing to herself and saying, 'Aur Argint'. J'adore smiled, her name was perfect. Aur Argint translated in her native tongue as 'Gold Silver'. 'Come with me, I'm going to take you to my pack and take care of you'. The woman didn't speak, only followed, clutching her wet scarf.
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