Post by Tiesa Nataani on Feb 2, 2006 17:09:25 GMT -5
((It's not done yet, but I needed to save it somehow, so... yeah....)
The crack of a whip rang through the air like beacon as heads snapped up and people moved toward the direction it came from. The towns-people were as curious as kittens when something unusual happened. Now, mind you, whips weren't an unusual thing in this part of the land, seeing as the Slave Market was popular and was at the center of the village. But it was unusual to hear it outside of the building, and instantly became a point of interest.
Following the second sound the whip made, the people came and circled about the little Town Square to watch the scene that was playing out before them. There, at the very center of the cobble-stoned area, a large man stood, burley in every way as he cracked the whip with his left hand, his right hand wrapped tightly in the lead rope. The rope led to the head of a tall, elegant, delicate looking steed. All the horse's appearances were proven false.
It bucked, kicked, and nearly yanked the giant of a man from his feet. The horse was beautiful to the eyes, with a coat of iridescent black that shimmered dark blue in the light of the noonday sun. The horse wickered, the sound emitting from its maw as a challenge to the man as its long, silky mane and tail flew about with each move it made. It suddenly lunged forward, and the man staggered to stay balanced as white teeth clamped onto his arm and sunk deep, blood flowing into the horses mouth.
The burley man yelled and cursed loudly as he moved to punch the horse in the nose. Its slender, athletic form outmanuevered him, however, and its hooves clattered against the cobblestones as it danced out of the man's angry reach. It whickered and moved from side to side, watching the man closely with rage burning bright in its eyes.
Another commotion broke out somewhere outside of the group as another burley man, dressed in a matching outfit of white tunic, black trousers and black boots broke through, leading along his own charge with his own troubles. Both his hands were wrapped up in a rope just slightly thinner than the horse's lead rope, and at the end of it, came the grumbling form of a young man.
At first glance the man looked to be girlish and weak, his form almost too-thin to even warrant a glance. It was just as much a facade as that of the horse's appearance. The man was mostly muscle, and said muscles rippled as he strained against the rope, teeth clenched as he pulled at the 'leash'. Standing nearly six feet, the man was crisscrossed all over by scars gone white with age. A few newer slices over his arms, chest, and back bled with the strain he put on the rope.
The man hauling him was sweat-soaked and red-faced as he huffed and puffed, dragging the smaller statured man around. The slave was barefoot, his only article of clothing that of a pair of tattered, brown trousers.
The crack of a whip rang through the air like beacon as heads snapped up and people moved toward the direction it came from. The towns-people were as curious as kittens when something unusual happened. Now, mind you, whips weren't an unusual thing in this part of the land, seeing as the Slave Market was popular and was at the center of the village. But it was unusual to hear it outside of the building, and instantly became a point of interest.
Following the second sound the whip made, the people came and circled about the little Town Square to watch the scene that was playing out before them. There, at the very center of the cobble-stoned area, a large man stood, burley in every way as he cracked the whip with his left hand, his right hand wrapped tightly in the lead rope. The rope led to the head of a tall, elegant, delicate looking steed. All the horse's appearances were proven false.
It bucked, kicked, and nearly yanked the giant of a man from his feet. The horse was beautiful to the eyes, with a coat of iridescent black that shimmered dark blue in the light of the noonday sun. The horse wickered, the sound emitting from its maw as a challenge to the man as its long, silky mane and tail flew about with each move it made. It suddenly lunged forward, and the man staggered to stay balanced as white teeth clamped onto his arm and sunk deep, blood flowing into the horses mouth.
The burley man yelled and cursed loudly as he moved to punch the horse in the nose. Its slender, athletic form outmanuevered him, however, and its hooves clattered against the cobblestones as it danced out of the man's angry reach. It whickered and moved from side to side, watching the man closely with rage burning bright in its eyes.
Another commotion broke out somewhere outside of the group as another burley man, dressed in a matching outfit of white tunic, black trousers and black boots broke through, leading along his own charge with his own troubles. Both his hands were wrapped up in a rope just slightly thinner than the horse's lead rope, and at the end of it, came the grumbling form of a young man.
At first glance the man looked to be girlish and weak, his form almost too-thin to even warrant a glance. It was just as much a facade as that of the horse's appearance. The man was mostly muscle, and said muscles rippled as he strained against the rope, teeth clenched as he pulled at the 'leash'. Standing nearly six feet, the man was crisscrossed all over by scars gone white with age. A few newer slices over his arms, chest, and back bled with the strain he put on the rope.
The man hauling him was sweat-soaked and red-faced as he huffed and puffed, dragging the smaller statured man around. The slave was barefoot, his only article of clothing that of a pair of tattered, brown trousers.