So alike, and yet so apart.

I can see clearly now, the rain--wait, we don't see much rain around here, but nevertheless, it is a clear and bright morning. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and the people of the market are generally morose and idling. It seems the recent events of civil unrest and turmoil taking place in Umbar are really taking their toll on everyone in general. What once was a crowded and happening place, with children demanding gifts from their parents, women going on willy nilly with their husband's money, while their husbands distract themselves from their wives shopping by visiting the slave pen, has now turned lonely and deserted with lack of customers.

Still, a few lost strangers or very clever locals have come out, and are walking about trying to make the most of slump in trade by bargaining with the shopkeepers for a good deal! In particular, there is a woman covered by a grey shawl, but wearing the typical colorful outfit of most women in Umbar, who is arguing with the slave auctioneer over a nubile young boy, in his early teens, who seems to have been brought from Gondor as bounty of war.

"Why won't you give him to me for a florin, eh?" she asks, "Look at these bones on him," she turns the young man around, and prods at his ribs. "And look at that face! His skin is grey, he is gaunt and I don't see a half good-looking facet to his features, either," Her features contort into a grimace, and she adds, "He isn't even worth 20 silvers, but I will am willing to give you a whole florin as a favor to your starving children. But here you are, making demands for more!"

[Yussef(#19036)]
A youth not quite as young as the slave boy but near enough, but from the other side of the fence as it were, comes there. Thin he looks, though with a softness about his cheekbones and fingers -- as one recovering from a long while with short supply of nutrition. He carries on his arm a basket albeit an empty one. Perhaps he is recently come to this place.

Yussef that is, that halts as he draws near observing the barter with widened eyes.

The Slave Master, a grossly obese and slimy looking individual smiles a toothy smile and says, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder, "But, Mistress, you are being much too quick to judge him." He squeezes the shoulder and smacks his back, making the boy jump forward and wince, "Think of the future, when he will have grown into a fine slave. Think of all the possibilities for his use," Wicked glee shines in his eyes, "What a lovely addition he will be to your household, or your business." He holds the boy's neck and pushing his head up, he says, "A little food in his stomach, and he will be as strong as a horse! And as for his face," the greaseball shrugs, "Well, what more can you expect from the North? As I say to all my regulars, 'Take them for what they are, and make the most,'"

With his final pitch completed, Naureen arches a brow and takes a second look at the youngun'.Then, suddenly bursting into a peel of laughter she says, "You stupid man, you think I want him for myself or my patrons?!" She rolls her eyes, dismissing that idea entirely. "I need him for other purposes," Smiling knowingly, she tries to convey a message that she hopes the Slaver will understand. "Greater purposes, for which he is much better suited." Her black gaze then falls towards the side-table on which the merchant has put a bunch of whips and other interesting accoutrement. "Before I pay you a copper more, I want to hear how well he can scream. He should be able to scream loud enough that the ground will shake and all the might forces of Mordor will hear him, and answer the prayers of My Lord."

[Yussef(#19036)]
The Harad youth steps closer now.

"If that is your purpose for him..." He says quietly a lapse in courage, perhaps, holding his tongue for a moment. The basket he carries creaks under his grip, fingers fiddling about a loose straw. His wide-eyed glance -- and one might suspect that is how is gaze is at all times, rather than a temporary look of amazement, wonder and uneasiness the temper that his mien now holds -- fleeting from Slaver to the woman he barters with. It is the former Yussef addresses.

He clears his throat.

"I mean, ma'am, if that is your purpose for him, isn't he well worth the price? A fitting-..." A pause, the large eyes stray aside for a while. All the while he speaks, his voice is neutral if perhaps a tad nervous.

"...-Sacrifice?"

Now, turning to espy this new addition to her conversation with the Slave trader, Naureen cants her head to the side and eyes Yussef. She does not speak for a good minute or two, just to hold a pregnant pause that will keep him in suspense, when finally, she says, "Ah, and who might you be, my dark-eyed manling?" A black and abysmal gaze traverses the older boy's form from head to toe and taking a step back, she folds her hands on her stomach. "But," she now breaks into a soft smile, "You would be right. The Dark Eye must not receive anything less than the best that Harad has to offer. Unfortunately," Her lips purse lightly and she shakes her head, "With our city at war, we have not received much supply in slaves off late. And, our purses are tight considering what we might have in store of us should Lord Farside actually declare war." Of course, no one knows who's side she is on, as she has still not revealed her name or address.

Picking up a long and thin riding crop, she waves it a good few times in the air, to listen to its strength. She puts out her hand, with the crop, and smiling ever so sweetly, she says, "But, you seem to know something the nature of good sacrifice. Will you help me to see if this one is any good?"

[Yussef(#19036)]
Nearly dropping his light burden as he takes a swift step back, Yussef holds up his palms as if to stave off an attack and not merely words-- and the considerably well-used vessel complains even further creaking as the components that binds it together grind and twist and turn. All the while he stammers, words tumbling out in haste, the youth seemingly humbled under the woman's examination: "N-no ma'am I know nothing of the sort."

"Yussef," he adds, quickly bowing his head. "Yussef is my name."

Her brow furrows and Naureen looks at Yussef with perplexed amusement. Her hand with the whip is withdraw to herself, and folding the length of the cord around her palm, she sighs and says, "Come now, Yussef. You must not hide from me I can see a clever light in your eyes and you speak your mind with courage. I can tell that you are not like this slave, here, who in all his urgency to earn respect from his foolish elders has landed himself as chattel." She holds the young slave's arm and pulls him forward. Looking at him with disdain, she tells him, "On your knees, boy." And, when the innocent child-like figure is hesitant, knowing just what will happen to him should he expose his skin to her, he is given a good shove by the Slave Master, who says to him, "Down, before I beat you to your sense! How dare you disobey an order that is given to you!"

Naureen unwinds the crop and puts it back on the table. "Take anything you want, then, to show me he is worth his price in gold." She says, "I know you have the strength of spirit to test your enemy and show them their rightful place." Looking hopefully, and nearly ready to offer Yussef a lovely instrument of torture, himself, the Slave Master eyes the boy with anxiousness.

[Yussef(#19036)]
Akin they seem in some manner, the slave and the Harad youth, both pitted into a place not of their choosing one bound by shackles of iron, the other by... the approval of his countrymen? Akin, and at the same time wholly alien. Yussef looks at the slaver, hesitant. He bites his lip eying that woman Naureen next. And the boy himself at last a long unblinking stare.

Then he looks away, blinking two times in quick succession.

And approaches the table, jaw set the basket set down next to the tools visible there. He grasps the crop this whip, and takes a step towards the young slave.

And stops, hesitating.

Just as Yussef steps close to him with the whip in hand, the young slave trembles. He is just about to bawl hot tears of anguish and fear when the Haradrim youth holds his hand. "Please," he wails softly, "Please let me go. My mother will be looking for me, I am her only son." And wiping his nose over his bare-skinned hand, he looks at Yussef with pitiable wretchedness.

 Of course, none of this goes ignored by Naureen, who stands there with her hands behind her back. Arched brow, she watches the interaction between the two young men and says nothing. Oh no, she seems she is having far more fun just watching the torturous interplay between the two. Of course, the only one who is utterly bummed by his is the Slave Merchant, who wants to earn himself a fat florin and go and relax at home, with all his other slaves.

[Yussef(#19036)]
Now if ever comes the true test of the youth's resolve!

Yussef but stares, muted, at the slave. He looks askance once more at the woman. A moment passes.

And then a howl rises over the market fare as he lashes out, the crop flailing aimlessly, almost desperately about the slave's upper body -- And yet, it is not the slaveboy that cries out first in agony or ire.

A glaze builds on Yussef's big eyes with each swing and with each swing comes a muffled wail through gritted teeth, half bared in a wince.

Each lashing is felt keenly by the young boy who grits his teeth and bites his tongue to prevent himself from screaming in pain, for this youngling from Gondor is no lily-livered worm. Ah, far from it, it seems he has the courage of men three times his age. As Yussef rages wildly with the whip on his back, the boy bears it all with steetly resolve. Alas, large hot tears in his red eyes might give him away, as his sorrow and pain is finally released. With a lowered head, he grunts softly as Yussef hit him unmercifully. However, when his grey eyes are lifted, he catches sight of a different kind of pain in his torturers eyes.

 "ARGHHHHARGH, mercy," he finally wails, drawing the attention of the nearly empty Market. Holding his head down in his hands, the boy weeps silently, but says no more.

 This display is enough to satisfy Naureen. With a smile, she nods her head. "That will be all," she tells Yussef. "You have done well." And putting two gold florins into the Slave traders hand, she buys the Gondor lad without further ado.

[Yussef(#19036)]
Weeps.

So too does the Harad youth the tool of his torture dropped clattering to the street. The tears stream down his hollow cheeks freely as he looks away from the lad of Gondor far to the north -- and thus the question begs to be asked: which end of the crop hurt the most, the hand or the thongs?

He flees without a word his task abandoned or forgotten.

Throwing her head back in laughter, Naureen grabs the slave's iron shackles and takes him with her to Lord knows where! With any luck, she'll give him some food and water and show him some basic courtesies, before using him for the intended purpose of sacrifice.

The End.