James sprang up, disoriented, but quickly scrambled out with the rest of the slave boys. The grey-eyed boy was dragging along two other boys, one in each hand, who had panicked and frozen in the lean-to. In less than a minute they were all out and lined up in front of the slaver, whip already in his hand, and in his other hand was the new boy, barely standing upright with his makeshift crutch, blood running down his face from a broken nose.
The man raged almost incoherently for a few minutes before James had the presence of mind to very carefully look around. The other slavers were also present, having gone unnoticed due to the tirade of the whip-using slaver. But they were all frowning angrily, looking mainly at the barely standing injured boy. Eventually, James understood the gist of the situation.
Shortly before they were all woken up, the new boy had tried to sneak away from the camp and escape. Somehow, the wards around the camp had alerted the slaver who was on watch, who had happened to be the whip-using slaver, and the injured boy had been caught and dragged back almost immediately. Now everyone was awake to listen to an “explanation” of what a bad idea it was to try to do that.
The whip-user cracked his whip. All the slaves flinched. The slaver pushed the injured boy onto his hands and knees before James could process what was happening-
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
Five times the whip lashed out, carving bloody trails in the back of the already injured boy, thoroughly tattering his shirt. That stuck out to James, and he found it odd that it did. Ah,, he thought, he won’t be getting a replacement for that shirt. His own back twinged with phantom pain in sympathy with the other boy, and then another thought struck him.
There was no healer here this time.
The whip-using slaver continued to rage and yell at the rest of the slave boys over the sobbing of the injured boy until the sun started to rise over the horizon. It felt like it had been just minutes, and it felt like it had been hours. James shivered.
“AND IF ANY O’ YOU TRY SNEAKING OFF AGAIN YER ALL GETTIN’ THE LASH UNTIL I GET TIRED OF IT AND TRUST ME I DON’T GET TIRED EASY. NOW GET BACK TO WORK!” The whip-using slaver concluded and then stormed off back towards where the slavers had their own tents and campfire.
Shellshocked, James and the rest of the headed towards the entrance of the mine, all thoughts completely beyond them after the display of violence. The injured boy continued to lay in the dirt, bleeding and sobbing. Nobody wanted to risk going to help him, doing anything other than what they’d been ordered to do lest they be whipped next.
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“Smith!” A voice barked out.
James jumped, startled, and quick as a flash all the other boys had moved several paces away from him, before continuing on to the mine entrance. James turned around and there was Coin with his magic bag, about to hand out the mining tools. Coin gestured James closer and James walked over, trembling.
“Y-y-yes?” James stammered.
“Oh calm down.” Coin said. “You’ll have plenty of time for the mine later. You didn’t forget that favor you owe me, did you?”
James, now remembering the spearhead, nodded his head violently. “Of of of course not, uh, the spearhead, yeah I’ll get right on it.”
“Good lad, get to it.” Coin passed him by and started handing out mining tools to the rest of the slaves.
The Smith quickly forged a spearhead, and once finished-
Smith Skill [Forging] has reached Level 3.
[Appraisal]: Spearhead, Quality: Very Low, Durability: 8/8
James took the newly forged spearhead to the slaver Coin, who then called over the spear-wielding slaver, who took the spearhead and inspected it critically.
“Hmmm…” he hummed, “it’s pretty bad, but good enough for practicing. Just a tad light. Next time I’ll have you make it a bit heavier, to match my good spearheads.” With that, he grinned and walked off. Coin sighed.
“Phew, maybe now he’ll get off my back about wasting money buying weapons he’s just going to break anyway.” Coin turned back to James. “Off to the mine with you, you all better not slack after last night’s stunt.” With a meaningful look, he pulled a pickaxe and shovel from his bag, handed them to James, and then he also turned and left.
James entered the mine and quickly found the new boy just inside, sprawled out on the ground. Everyone else was working, making no attempt to help him. James rushed to his side and crouched down next to him.
“Hey, hey! Are you alright?” he asked.
The new boy merely groaned in pain. The grey-eyed boy paused his picking and strolled over to James and the injured boy, with his pick-axe casually resting on his shoulder.
“Leave him.” he said gruffly. “He’s a lost cause at this point. A bum ankle’s one thing for mining, but trying to escape with a bad leg? That’s just stupidity. And he’s not going to survive those lashes no matter what we do.”
“But-” James started, but the grey-eyed boy interrupted.
“But nothing. He can’t work, and the longer he lives the longer we have to keep putting out his share of the iron.”
“So, what, then?!” James stood up and shouted. The rest of the slave boys stopped working and turned to watch the argument.
“Smith.” The grey-eyed boy said, now speaking slowly and calmly, trying to defuse the situation. “There’s nothing we can do. Look, he can’t even sit up on his own, let alone walk or work. Soon his wounds will get infected, he’ll get sick, and then he’ll die. Not a damn thing we can do about it. So just leave him. We’ll do the work and then,” he paused, eyes flickering towards the rest of the slaves, “that won’t happen to us. Get it? Now come on, we still have extra work to do.”
The grey-eyed boy turned to return to work, and the rest of the slaves did the same, but-
“No.”
The grey-eyed boy turned back around, a look of honest confusion on his face. “Huh? What was that?”
“I said no. This is crap.”
It was at this point that the Smith finally snapped.
