Challenge Submission Acceptance

[Demonreach]

Vaeymere stared down at the pickaxe in his hands, which were caked in dirt ---dry and cracked--- and frowned; the handle worn smooth from his hands during these months of work. Of his ten men that had been captured by the frost giants, only he and three others remained; he separated from them, kept on different shifts. The days had been long, stretching into weeks into months. The four had managed to find ways to communicate, but it had been almost four days since Vaeymere had last received word. The slavemaster, a particularly cruel frost giant named Bruhsk Hoar-Eye, on account of the frosted over left eye, kept watch over Vaeymere and his shift mates, a fact that his fellow slaves knew was because of him. The first few weeks had been the hardest.

He was in a group full of dwarves and a few gnomes, altogether making fourteen. Dwarves and their cousins were known xenophobes, and barely tolerated each other; elves were distant cousins to the two races. There had been a war thousands of years ago between the dwarves and gnomes, almost driving both to extinction. Having found peace in their mutual destruction, the two races had gone on to create true wonders above and below ground. Vaeymere was a mix of elf and human blood, and neither dwarf nor gnome held any ill will towards him; they left him alone, turning cold shoulders or being outright hostile if he came too close.

The frost giants had taken this mining operation from the hands of humans almost a hundred years ago, and was written off as abandoned. When scouts came up missing and search parties when they were sent out, Vaeymere had been selected along with nine others to look into it further. They had been overwhelmed by the numbers of the frost giants, and Vaeymere had awoken to being in chains. Four of them had died in the ensuing fight while two more succumbed to their wounds in the hours after. Vaeymere and the other four survivors had adapted as best they could; the months of hard labor and going days without food often kept them lean and their muscles hard, however they were worked to exhaustion. Some died where they stood, some in their sleep. The half-elf knew the giants ate all manner of meat, and had been hesitant at first, but a gnome had said the frost giants no longer fed the dead slaves to the living ones after an incident almost sixty years ago.

His magic was inaccessible to him, bound to the will of their shaman; a perverse creature twisted by the foul worship of their Endarkened Angel, Dracerious. Vaeymere hadn't seen the shaman which told him that the binding had been done while he was unconscious. He wasn't infallible, but that there was a skilled shaman in their ranks was concerning. When he probed for where he drew upon his magic, it was just out of reach.

Letting out a breath, he went for a swing, bracing for the impact before hearing a brief commotion as someone fell followed by a severe cracking of a whip announcing its owners' displeasure. His own scars seemed to sting with remembrance, flinching ever so slightly. Looking over, he saw an older dwarf had collapsed pushing a cart of ore and a frost giant had walked over, cracking the whip as he unfurled it with practiced motion. Cloth and flesh tore against the strike of the whip, the dwarf unable to voice his pain as a second strike took his back.

'Up!' Barked the slaver to punctuate the lash. He continued his tirade, seeing that the dwarf wasn't responding fast enough. Each word followed by a lashing. 'Get… back to… wo-'

The dwarf struggled against the brutal assault of the giant slaver, but looked up when the last word failed to deliver its subsequent strike. The half-elf had intercepted the whip, which coiled roughly around the pickaxe before it was jerked away, torn from his grip by the might of the frost giant after a brief struggle.

'Enough. You will kill him.'

The frost giant glared, 'Then he dies.'

The giants' tone made it clear the last was delivered as a command to him, but Vaeymere refused to move even as the frost giant closed the distance, towering over the half-elf. Behind Vaeymere heard the dwarf struggling to his feet. A few others had quickly rushed to get their comrade from harm's way. When the frost giant tried to speak again, Vaeymere hit the giant with an open palm at the solar plexus, doubling the slaver and delivering another open palm to the side of the head. The giant fell over in a pained noise as he clutched his ear, but lashed out with his arm and Vaeymere jumped over the slow movement only to take a fist to his chest as he was midair, knocking him several yards away. He could hear the frost giant stalking towards him and struggled to get up. As he got to his hands and knees, he felt the giants' massive foot flatten him back to the earth. Vaeymere thought he could hear his bones grinding.

'Stop. That's enough, Z'chul,' came the voice of the slavemaster, Bruhsk Hoar-Eye; the pressure relenting almost immediately. 'Tell me, little halfbreed, why stick up for this… dwarf? They care little for you; most here would turn their backs if the position were reversed.'

Catching his breath, Vaeymere slowly rose to his feet, 'I am not them.'

Hoar-Eye stared down at him with a wolfish grin. The two stared into each other's eyes before Bruhsk made a gesture and Vaeymere was forced to his eyes by two other giants that had flanked their leader. Bruhsk knelt down as to continue their contest of wills.

'Proceed, Z'chul.'

Vaeymere felt the sting of the whip biting into his flesh; the feeling of a slow trickle of blood spoke of the rage gripping Z'chul at the humiliation.

Bruhsk spoke again without breaking the stare. 'Ten lashes.'

Vaeymere stopped counting after the fourth made his vision darken from the pain. He focused his mind on the singular eye of the frost giant kneeling before him. The world stopped, narrowing down to the fire in his open wounds and the sound of the whip seeking his flesh again and again. The fire was pain, the pain fire and it was cleansing. It wrapped itself around his soul, gripped him in its wrath.

The final lashing came distantly, and before the pain could strip reason from him, Vaeymere spat in the frost giants' face; blood struck Bruhsk's lone eye. The grin Vaeymere displayed was madness, bloodied saliva forming strings down his mouth, mixing with the dirt and sweat coating his face.

The look of rage upon the slave masters' face was not something Vaeymere would forget; an image he would think of often in the years to come. Vaeymere was dimly aware of Bruhsk speaking in barely restrained anger as the whip bit into his flesh already raw and exposed; his laughter a litany of pain as Z'chul punished him.

Upon awakening, Vaeymere was immediately aware of the pain; the stiffness of laying unmoving for extended hours. He was laying on his chest, hissing in pain as he tried to roll over and heard someone nearby grunt, the sound of feet shuffling towards him.

'Hold, fool, or you'll undo the work we've done.' The voice was deep, almost unintelligible to his ears. 'I shall assist you.'

Hands, heavy and broad, helped Vaeymere roll onto his side. The dwarf was hardly gentle, but Vaeymere was just thankful for the help. His throat was on fire, torn and traumatized; his breathing was uneven, ragged and harsh. The dwarf seemed to understand the situation, lifting Vaeymere's held to allow him to drink from the proffered cup. The brackish water soothed the aches, but also made him aware of them. It hurt to swallow even the small sips given to him, and a few times he had been sent into a coughing fit which just made it all the worse. He could feel blood trickling from the open wounds. Vaeymere couldn't scream his pain, which was perhaps for the best.

The dwarf just held Vaeymere while coughing in an attempt to keep him from moving too much. The dwarf rubbed some kind of gritty salve onto the back of Vaeymere, a mix of dirt, saliva, and the dwarf's blood.

While the dwarf worked, he spoke, 'I am Hourdrith Stonebeard, a merchant's son. Tonight, you spared my life and so, I have spared yours. I have done all I can. The rest is up to you.'

There was shuffling, whispered words just out of reach.

'We know who you are, princeling, and we were curious as to how a dead man shows up here.' Hourdrith took a few moments to wet Vaeymere's lips before allowing the half-elf to drink more of the water and continued, 'Given your present state, we shall merely have to wait for your tale. Bruhsk has given you three days, and you've been asleep for almost two of them. I have tended your wounds and sewed your hide together as best I could, but the rest is up to you.'

For the first time, Hourdrith revealed himself to Vaeymere; amber eyes stared intently into his own green, a fierce light of strength and conviction. 'Do you want freedom?'

Vaeymere struggled to his knees, the pain forcing his breathing to come out in seething gasps as he fought the stiff and sore muscles, and found the dwarfs gaze as Vaeymere formed a hand sign over his chest and spoke, 'Get me their… shaman… and… my blood… is yours, stone-brother.'

From around him, he could hear heavy hands thumping into broad chests: a drumming of war, of freedom. Of change.