120-year-old Eleanor Silverglade was the daughter of wealthy e’lan slave traders. She lived in the uptown, luxury section of Galloway, the capital of Lizavet. These were pages torn from her journal many years later.
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Journal Entry #2006 (Recorded History Year 3297. Month 02. Day 27. RH 3297.02.27)
We had another party today. It was not as big as my 120-year bash this year, but it was fabulous, as always. The teacakes, however, were a little dry so I made sure daddy knew to send the baker with the slaves on the next raid in Rimeland. Hopefully, those cold-hearted bastards gut him. The foolish little man should have known better than to try to ruin my party. I am sure Belle and Victoria are sniggering behind my back at the awful desserts, but Tal’Gathra take them. They don’t have nearly as much wealth as the Silverglades
Belle and Victoria wore white cloaks as I asked them to. The three of us matched and we looked absolutely gorgeous. All the boys were falling over each other to talk to us. Sometimes the girls do get it right, which is why I love them… sometimes. Today was one of the days where they were alright, so I gave them each a pair of silver earrings. They appeared grateful, but you can never tell with them.
These Septday parties are getting a little boring. They are fabulous… but are getting repetitive. Maybe I can convince daddy to let us play Bleeding Cuts with a slave. An expensive game, but nothing is more thrilling than seeing who gets the e’lan in the end after all the cuts we will make. I will need to make sure Victoria does not cheat with poison or something devious like that.
I am sighing as I write this. I bet daddy makes me pay for the slave using my allowance if we play Bleeding Cuts. I would ask the girls, but they do not have that kind of geldarian. I would have to forego a few months of shopping. Tal’Gathra knows I will suffer without new clothes and jewelry, but I will do what I must. Until the next time, goodbye for now.
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Journal Entry #2074 (RH 3297.12.06)
We had another excellent and profitable day trading slaves. I watched daddy exchange some of our stock babies for others of decent breeding quality. Since it is widely known that our little younglings typically have a good showing of ink when it manifests, people were paying big money. They are trying to incorporate our bloodlines with theirs, but they will never accomplish what daddy has. The ones we raise usually manifest with a full sleeve of ink or more, and I have not seen any other breeders do the same. We just need to have good old Betsy and the other sows keep pumping babies out!
Something odd did happen while we were out. I do not know what came over me. This group of three was on the trading block, two adults (male and female) and an adolescent (female). It looked like a small family of farmstock, not the strong fighting slaves that we normally deal with.
No one bid on the girl. There was a long period of silence for her. The auctioneer had to reduce the price four times before someone raised their hand. It was none other than the lecherous Robbie. The girls and I call him Robbie the Raper; a disgusting resident of uptown. He is a slimy individual who over-applies fragrances and perfumes. I would not be caught dead alone with Robbie, and I absolutely would never invite him to my Septday parties.
When the auctioneer said “going twice!” my hand shot up, and I found myself bidding against the Raper. I knew what that sicko had in mind for the teen girl. I ended up paying way too much and got a stern reprimand from daddy. He cut my allowance to cover the cost!
The parents of the girl looked soft with a weak showing of e’lan. The girl begged and begged me to buy them. She was on her knees, clutching at my pant legs. Silly girl thinks money just grows on trees. We watched as some desperate fool bought them for cheap. He executed them on the spot for the ink.
Again, I do not know what came over me when I bought the adolescent. I will need to have better self-control next time. In the meantime, I think I will name my new pet assistant Ruth or Roxy. Something that starts with an “R” but I think I like the name, Ruth. We will see how she turns out! Until then, goodbye for now.
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Journal Entry #2635 (RH 3304.10.10)
Tal’Gathra take me now! I am… beyond words.
I am writing this in the room of a cheap inn in the slums! The fucking slums. It is absolutely disgusting here. Roaches everywhere. Last night, I heard rats scurrying about. I had to sleep with my boots on so they would not nibble off my toes. I am still not over the smell, either. I gag after every breath. The combined stench of body odor and fecal matter is overwhelming. I am ready to vomit.
How did this happen!? I mean, I know how… but what are the odds? Father sent two full boats of slaves to the Rimeland shores to earn more ink. He had a HUGE contract that he needed to fulfill and a successful raid would have set us up for long comfortable lives. Except, the boats never made it to Rimeland. The damned Eternal Cyclone was spewing fierce storms which destroyed BOTH vessels. Our entire stock was lost!
Daddy and mother could not fill the contracts and
We went to Bella’s and she just cackled like a hateful bitch. Victoria was the same. She slammed the door in our faces. Those fucking ungrateful bottom-feeding whores. The least they could have done was host us for a few nights while I figured things out. Now that I am destitute, they want nothing to do with me.
I had a few pieces of jewelry that I had to sell; some clothes, too. We went onto Market street and exchanged them for geldarian. I kept my daddy’s ring, though. As we walked down the street planning our next move, some rude kids bumped into me. They apologized and went along their way. They were long gone before I realized they picked my pocket.
Luckily, if you want to call it luck, they did not get it all. We have enough to get by for a while, but we will need to be frugal. Very frugal. Impoverished. I hate the idea of it. I also do not think it will work. We’ll just end up dying slow, fruitless deaths. I am surprised the muck they served us to eat in this hole has not killed us by now.
Ruth and I both have enough ink for a short while, but we will need to make a move eventually. I do have a sword, and a knife which I gave to Ruth. I was trained with the sword, but I have not really participated in any raids or raid defenses. Why would I?
I am starting to see how sheltered I have been. Ruth was farmstock for most of her life, so she is softer than my old daybed. Oh, I miss my daybed.
She was a fun sparring partner to have, though, so at least she has that experience. I suggested that we just ambush and kill unsuspecting victims in the slums, but Ruth pointed out that these creatures ALWAYS suspect an attack.
I am still in disbelief. This is the worst thing to ever happen to me in my entire life. If not for that one moment of haste at the auction house, where I outbid Robbie for Ruth, I would probably have nothing right now.
Our best bet is to gamble everything we have on becoming raiders. We will spend every geldarian we have, get geared up, and join a raiding party at one of the guilds. I am pretty sure that is how it works. We should be able to sign up and get a couple of seats on the boat. Why didn’t my teacher see fit to teach me this kind of thing?
I will explore that option tomorrow. Until next I write, goodbye for now.
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Journal Entry #2667 (RH 3305.03.03)
So far, raiding life is not terrible. We were able to join a regular raiding crew. It cost all we had to purchase tickets to raid. I had to sell the ring my daddy gave to me, though. I loved that ring. It was not until after the third raid that I found out that we did not need to buy tickets.
The boys and girls are a rough bunch, but I suppose that is to be expected. It turns out my training has taken me pretty far, though. I can handle most of the crew except these two cocky assholes who think they are the hottest shit to come out of Lizavet. They even call themselves by cheesy nicknames. According to them, it makes them sound dangerous and tough. I hope Tal’Gathra takes the Grim and Butcher soon, especially the Grim because he sold me those tickets.
I am too angry to talk about them. For now though, I do not think we have to worry about e’lan, food, or shelter. The guild has a spare room which Ruth and I share, and we have regular meals in the mess hall. The food is better than the slop served in the slums. In the end, I think things are starting to look up. Goodbye for now.
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Journal Entry #2701 (RH 3305.09.12)
I captured my first pair of Rimeland scum today. I was sneaky about it, too. Grim knocked two guys out with the pommel of his sword, and then simply left them behind… He seemed to do this a lot when Ruth and I trailed behind him on raids. After the gesture, he would turn his back to us to advance deeper into the fray with the Butcher. My ink reserves were fine, so I tied up the pair and shoved them onto our boat.
When we finally retreated, Grim saw what I had done and was furious. He went on this tirade about buying and selling people. He does not know how the world works; how money is made and empires are built. He fights well enough and could build a fortune if he was not as dumb as a rock. I tried explaining the economics of the trade, but every time I broach the subject he raves like a lunatic.
Cleaver, the Butcher’s real name, is normally quiet when Grim rants about the slave trade being wrong and toxic for everyone involved. I tried to tell him that I had lived happily when we were insanely wealthy. It was not toxic. He just stared at me like a tree. I will show him. I am going to get rich and swim in the geldarian. I will rebuy my daddy’s villa and hire Bella and Victoria as servants in my garden. They’re going to be eating out of the palm of my hand again; kissing my ass for the silver and gold that will flow out of it.
The Rimelanders sold well at auction. I have enough funds to buy a small pen in the outskirts. I will start with farmstock that will breed into slaves. The future looks promising! The Grim and Butcher are both firm in their beliefs (for the moment), but I will show them. They are going to want in on the action, too. In the meantime, goodbye for now.
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Journal Entry #2862 (RH 3307.05.30)
Building a slave organization is time-consuming. I’m having better luck with farmstock. There were times when I thought I bought a worthy slave, but they went into Rimeland and died instead of coming back full of ink. What a waste. For now, I am going to stick to farming. I am making great money in the business. I don’t have anyone as good as Betsy was, but Ruth and I are managing with the sows we have on hand. Sometimes the girl gets an odd look on her face when we take the stock to market, but she understands.
The money is rolling in and I’m building back my wealth. I can finally buy new clothes again! Finally, things are returning to normal. I should be happier about that, but the fancy dresses I bought are just sitting in a trunk in the guild hall. I can’t wear them on my trips to Rimeland, obviously, but even in Lizavet I find myself more comfortable in my combat gear. With my armor and sword, I get treated more seriously than I ever did wearing perfume and jewelry.
And I have been raiding a lot. I prefer to get ink on raids instead of culling my own stock because… well, it would be a waste of money. I cannot use up my own product if I want to get ahead in the game. Besides, I am starting to get really good at this.
Grim and Butcher stopped leaving unconscious foes in their wake ever since I took prisoners that one time. They continue spouting the nonsense that warriors should die in battle, and not be tortured by traders or bred like cattle. They can believe what they want until I show them the marvels of living in Uptown.
More and more people are taking notice of me, too. My name surely helps. I hear whispers on the street that people are interested in the Silverglade stock. Uptown, I’m on my way. Goodbye for now.
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Journal Entry #2949 (RH 3308.06.02)
I made it! I’m back in Uptown, Galloway. My lucky break happened in Arrow Peaks when I was there on business. One evening, I was down by the shores and bodies started washing up. I thought they were dead (some were), but most were unconscious or exhausted Rimelanders! They had tried to raid Arrow Peaks and crashed hard onto the Eastern Fangs.
So I tied up the living ones, took them to the nearest slave trader, and bargained for an exchange. I traded the unruly lot for more malleable slaves; Real, quality slaves! We trekked back to Galloway and now I’m back in Uptown. The looks on Belle’s and Victoria’s faces were priceless. I’m going to invite Grim and Butcher to my next Septday party to show them what they’ve been missing out on; the cakes; the quality cuts of meat prepared by master chefs. My mouth is watering already.
I’ve finally won. Victory! Though the first things I bought were upgrades to my armor and new clothes for raiding. I didn’t even think about any of the dressmakers I used to frequent when mother and father were alive. Strange, because if this all works out I won’t need to risk my own life anymore. I can breed these slaves and never have to raid again.
Part of me loves the look of it, being one of the only people in Uptown dressed for battle with sleeves of ink that I earned myself. The storekeepers of the shops I go to now aren’t annoyingly following me around trying to suck up to me so I’ll buy some silly bauble. They are masters of their craft, and there’s a look in their eyes now when I come in. Is it respect? It’s something I haven’t felt before, not even from Belle and Victoria.
It feels good.
***
Journal Entry #2953 (RH 3308.06.16)
Well, that was short-lived. I wanted to boost my e’lan reserves so I executed a pair of my assets, a man and a woman. Neither of them had very much ink, but together were a decent increase for me. Afterward, I spotted Ruth, and she had a shocked and terrified look on her face. She’d seen me kill more people than that in battle so I couldn’t figure out what the problem was, and she wouldn’t tell me. She just looked at me like it was the first time she’d ever seen me.
In the morning, my entire stock was gone; both farmstock and slaves. Ruth freed them all and then fled to Rimeland. She left me a note, too. She thanked me for saving her life all those years ago, but she couldn’t stand to be at my side anymore. She said we’d been through a lot together and she’d started to hope we could grow to be like sisters, but that I was starting to become like every other slaver and farmer in Uptown. She said life was becoming cheap to me.
Now, I’ve lost everything, again. And, reading Ruth’s note, maybe I deserved to. I’ve had a chance to think about it. Perhaps the system truly is toxic, and Grim and Butcher were right. I came close to friendship with them, back when we raided together. That was exhilarating in a way.
They ribbed me in good fun and perhaps I deserved some of it, but they kept me alive. They showed me how to adapt my structured sword training into real combat tactics. They taught me strategy and patience. They taught me how to enjoy the fight and not just to see it as a means to an end, and they showed me how that could make the other moments in life sweeter.
I don’t know why my eyes are watering as I write this.
I’ve thrown exactly one party since coming back to Uptown. Grim and Butcher snubbed my invitation and I was sorely disappointed. I didn’t realize how upset I would get. My cheeks were flushed and Belle and Victoria pretended to try to cheer me up. They were there with fake smiles and compliments. That attitude and atmosphere was a stark contrast to the guild hall. People at the hall laughed genuinely. I want to laugh like that.
I have nothing left. I was a selfish bitch with money, but now I have no money. That doesn’t leave me with much. I’m going to go to the guild and see if they have any space on the next boat.
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Journal Entry #2954 (RH 3308.06.17)
Success, I think. I’ve abandoned the quest to become the richest person in Lizavet. No one is catching up to Tessa Piper at any rate. I told Grim what happened and he laughed like I’ve never heard before. Between breaths, he said, “RUTH-less.” I wanted to smack his face off, but because I was back and asking for a second chance, I didn’t. But then he asked the captain of the ship to measure my head for a hat. At first, I thought this was some rite of passage; that I was being accepted into some kind of clan. With a straight face, Grim said that the captain has to be concerned about… “cap sizes.”
The Grim is an absolute child of a man. I told him so. I called his jokes juvenile and he argued that they were “full groan.” After he composed himself, he leaned back into his chair all smug. He exchanged a look with Cleaver and there was some unspoken communication between them. Cleaver grumbled and handed Grim money; must’ve been a wager.
I refuse to speak with that man again. Completely asinine. If I need to talk with Grim, I’ll ask Cleaver to do it for me. He seems to be the more balanced of the two.
The important thing, though, is that they welcomed me back. I have no idea what happened, but they’re giving me another chance. And even these terrible jokes sound better to me than any conversation I’ve had at any of my Septday parties. Nobody is more surprised about that than me.
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Journal Entry #3032 (RH 3309.04.12)
I’ve flipped back through my journal entries with mixed feelings. Glaive is still the same man-child, but he’s grown on me. Actually, it’s a little endearing. Tal’Gathra please strike me down if he ever discovers that I wrote that. I’ll never hear the end of it.
He does Sento forms every morning. This might seem weird, but it’s relaxing to watch him. His movements… they’re like ocean waves. In the beginning, he’s rolling gently onto the beach. By the end of his routine, he’s crashing fiercely into the Fangs in the Drake Strait. It’s mesmerizing.
He invited me to join him, but I said that I had my own training routines. He told me, though, that this was more than training. I didn’t really understand, but the next day I tried it and I have to admit it was quite calming. I can’t really describe it, but I felt more aware afterward. I can’t really quite describe a lot from the last few months.
He and Cleaver have both been coaching me in combat. They said my fundamentals are solid, but that I need to be bold with my attacks. So I’ve been bold. Each raid, I faced down opponents with more and more confidence. I’ve even saved Glaive’s hide on a couple of occasions. He would never admit it, but I did and he should be grateful.
The three of us work really well together. The word is that we’re getting pretty famous in Rimeland. While I’m dirt poor, I’ve never been happier. I like how I can count on Glaive and Cleaver to watch my back. I would never trust Belle or Victoria to do the same.
More importantly, I want those two boys to be able to count on me. I’ll guard Cleaver’s flank. I’ll watch Glaive’s backside. Yes. I. Will.
I’ll have to remember to burn this page.
***
Journal Entry #3075 (RH 3309.10.18)
Glaive, Cleaver, and I spent a short stint taking on local contracts. The boys said that they wanted to start saving money for a tavern. I just shrugged it off as another one of their childish fantasies and went with the flow. They couldn’t save money to save their lives.
The first contract we took was from a slaver!! I know what you’re thinking: The Grim and Butcher would never sign up for something like that. Oh, but they did… and it was a bloodbath.
It was an odd sensation at first. There I was in a room full of former colleagues and friends from back when my life was full of glitz and gold. They showed off their fake smiles that I’ve learned to read so well. Through the cracks in their masks, they were scoffing at me and how far I had fallen. Little do they know, I’ve been much happier since I left that life of hatred and poison.
The contract was to kill another slaver. There was a new guy on the street that was stealing everyone else’s thunder. They didn’t like how he upset the local economy… meaning they didn’t like the drop in their personal incomes. So, they wanted him removed and to relocate the man’s stock to their own pens. The compensation offered was nothing to sneeze at. Ten-thousand geldarian to kill one man; a slaver who was expanding a trade that Glaive had loathed to no end. It was an easy decision.
The three of us dropped ink-fused blood onto the contract and went to complete the mission. After we infiltrated the man’s villa, we ghosted our way to the upper floor. There were three rooms at the top and we didn’t know which was his. So we all took a door and kicked it in. Butcher’s room had an off duty bodyguard. They scuffled and, to no one’s surprise, Cleaver won. Glaive’s room held several naked women, bound and beaten. He sheathed his sword and began freeing them with his knife. Waiting in the room I had entered was the slaver himself.
He drew his sword and I closed in with mine. His technique was slow, unorthodox, and no match for my own. After a few easy parries, I buried the point of my sword into his heart. Power flooded into me as I took all the man’s ink.
We swept the house and rounded up the slaves. I was shocked to see that Glaive was preparing to deliver them to our benefactors. I protested, but his argument made sense. We signed a contract and couldn’t risk tangling with the cleaners.
So we delivered the slaves and farmstock to the new pens. I felt awful. I wanted to throw up. After coming all this way to try to become a better person, here I was feeding that system again.
We went into the villa to close out the contract. After we received the e’lan signatures and prize money… Glaive. Drew. His. Sword. It sang quietly as it slid from his sheath. Then he moved like the wind, from person to person, flashing his steel in deadly arcs. I’ve seen him fight many times, but this was something else. THIS was why they called him the Grim. He was a viper amongst mice. In moments, the walls were streaked with red, and the bodies of our recent employers littered the ground.
Afterward, we ordered the slaves to live freely and they shuffled out of the pens almost aimlessly. One of the veteran slaves seemed to have command of his senses and thanked us. He had tears in his eyes and THANKED us. And then I had tears in my eyes because I knew we had done good; the right thing. Maybe the first right thing I’d ever really done since buying Ruth on instinct all those years ago.
The veteran slave assured Glaive that he would bring the rest to safety.
We have to lay low from taking local contracts for a while so we decided to go back to raiding until things cool down in the contract world.
For all of his bluster, and bad taste, and terrible jokes, Glaive is a pretty remarkable person. I can see why Cleaver sticks with him now. Raiding with the two of them, I’m hardly as wealthy as I used to be, but I still feel amazingly richer. I don’t know what I did to earn that second chance, and their trust, but I’ll do everything in my power to keep it.
***
Journal Entry #3140 (RH 3310.05.22)
We’re known simply as, The Galloway Trio. The Grim, Butcher, and Silverblade. That’s right folks, I have a nickname. Silverblade… it’s not super sexy, but I’ll run with it. Glaive was calling out some orders and said “Silverglade, cover the alley!” and the Rimelanders were like “Silverblade?” and that was that. Stupid. I tried changing it, but during raids, Glaive kept reinforcing it with a smirk.
That man is such a fool. He even uses Saga, the Wise and Wizened in his Keener deck. I was shocked when I found out, and then stomped him to bits with Helena, the Beautiful and Noble.
He makes the worst puns and thinks he’s hilarious. Often, I have to stop Cleaver from strangling the man. Immediately after saving him from Cleaver’s wrath, Glaive makes some offhand joke that has me ready to strangle him.
He’s rude, crass, and poor; without any ambition to improve his station in life. He’s unrefined! Rough around the edges when I met him… rough around the edges now. Completely asinine on every level.
And… that man is going to be my husband. I love him. I love him with every drop of e’lan in my body. He is my warmth and beacon of light, and I want to hold him close and have his babies. That’s right. I said it; little Grim Silverblades running around our small house in the labor district.
There was a point in my life where I would have scoffed at such a notion, especially with a man like Glaive. Belle and Victoria could be laughing at that thought right now. But I am happy. Nothing will make me happier now than marrying Glaive Grimstone; making him my husband; becoming his wife.