It was a hot and humid morning on Insanity Isle, no different than it'd been for a month now. The heat was as merciless as the fate that'd befallen upon the island's unwilling residents, forced to pick up a weapon to rob another off their lives for the sake of the Varoogla's and their masters entertainment. With the recent passing of a formidable warrior, the morale of those that survived thus far seemed sunken and lost in an abyss, emitting a gloomy atmosphere within the walls where they practise as they mourned for the woman, Claire. On top of that, Aaron's critical conditions where he laid paralyzed and unconscious in the chambers of Areena too have not returned them the lost hope for freedom.
Their brief excitement at witnessing Saidah's madness stepping onto the sands as if witnessing a newborn child was forgotten almost as quickly as it'd awakened. None seemed to share the unspoken determination and seemingly purposeful gaze gleaming from Jaymz' eyes either. Even Redbeard's footing seemed somewhat unstable, locking himself for most of the days in his chamber and making brief but false inspirational words in an attempt to lift the fighters' spirits each dawn, one which he himself now started to doubt.
However, as if unaffected by the heaps of unfortunate events, it was Pot who'd came to prove dependable as he went about ensuring that things gets done the way they were suppose to be, that the warriors were properly fed and taken care of. In his favorite corner the boy sat, watching with those pair of curious sky blue eyes, studying the well being of both men and women, searching for gestures conveying sickness. Lunch was nearing and the notion of mingling with his friends brought a smile on his face.
Dimly litted with the creaking sounds of rocking timbers as well as dangling chains, reeked with dried vomit, piss and feces over body odours and salty ocean, the underdeck of the vessel was the most unpleasant of places to be. Yet the choice wasn't theirs to chose. Shackled to steel chains and bound to either each other or the beams, the captives were reminded again and again by the vile Varooglas that what they were experiencing were no mere dreams. Over and over again they would deliver a punch to either the torso or the face, disregarding the instructions not to just because they could. The most joy they got was to frequently torment those who were shackled and bound to a heavy anti-magic planks over their shoulders and neck. These were the only few that'd given these creatures a hard time to capture. If it wasn't for their own shaman, they'll definitely don't stand a chance.
Soon, the peculiar language from these creatures barked across the space loudly. Their aggression then elevated, forcing the captives onto the feet and shoving the bodies to form a line. The afternoon lights poured into the opened doorways, threatening to blind the man it'd first greeted.
"Moov! Moov, me sae!" exclaimed the nearest Varoogla before kicking the near perfect olive skinned man towards the stairs.
Many more had suffered the same but the worse was yet to come. In the back of the line, a woman was seen shackled to the very planks these Varooglas have placed especially onto those capabled of destructive magics. She was bruised and battered far worse than any at present. No mercy still as she was pushed towards the exit.
Banner thanks to Lillian Thorne