Each board groaned under his feet aboard the Korvinsfald so severely, Killian could have closed his eyes and imagined he had never left the pier. Though after a few moments on the longship, he actually wished he hadn't. Though they didn't slacken their work for long, the newcomer's presence in their territory provoked glances and snickers from the Dwarven sailors enough to make Killian grit his teeth. Thorian had hastily volunteered to guide his uncle on a brief tour of the ship, to which Durgan consented on the condition they would be accompanied by his first mate.
This first mate was a gruff Dwarf by the name of Rulger Ogbart, the same fire-bearded Dwarf who had spoken to Durgan regarding the opening downstairs. He greeted Killian by a short once-over with his eyes, and beckoned the pair to follow him with the end of a short blunderbuss he'd equipped.
"We ain't have many travelers board the Korvinsfald, so count yerself lucky - an without a coin from yer purse no less."
Heading for the stern of the vessel, the trio made their way to a wide staircase. Killian hadn't heard much of what Rulger had said, as his eyes were glued to the bound bundle they passed just a number of steps away from. Carefully they descended to the dim and humid depths onto a deck that appeared to double as both general storage and bunking. This, of course, Killian was left to ascertain for himself, as Rulger spoke mainly of the various rules aboard the vessel. These consisted primarily of the things Killian could not do, of which there were many.
He was not allowed to look through anything in the cargo hold. He was not allowed to distract the crew from their work. And he was absolutely not allowed to wander about the ship once they had set off. Surprisingly, the rules were lax in terms of his interaction once he had taken his seat, wherever that would be. Growing evermore anxious about this observation, Killian inquired about his own lodgings, to which Rulger only responded with a grin that was too wide to be genuine. It was then that they descended further into depths that turned from dim to dark, and humid to sweltering heat.
Killian stopped just past the foot of the stairs. He attempted to will his legs to move forward, but fear kept him rooted in place. Having been raised in the Isles, Orcs were a common sight, though Killian had only seen them in passing. Now he was faced with row after row of the massive and monstrous creatures; dozens of them seated with their backs to their guests, as if members of a pious congregation. Rulger strode forth down the central aisle in between the benches, which were packed with the living cargo like sardines in a can. Though each of the Orcs was easily three times the size of the first mate, not one of them looked up as he passed them. In fact, those that had an arm or a foot even slightly into the aisle quickly pulled the limbs close to their person as they heard the Dwarf's approach. It was only through Thorian's encouragement - and his annoyment with it - that Killian was able to continue.
Rulger paid the slaves no attention and continued gabbing on, though about what Killian could not figure, as he was altogether too busy keeping himself at as much a distance from the creatures as possible. His attention was only focused back upon the Dwarf once he had realized they had come to a standstill.
"This here's yer stop, bard. Do as ye please so long's ye abide by the rules."
Killian looked dumbly first at Rulger, before turning his attention to the direction in which he gestured. A narrow, rickety bench the same as the other two-dozen aboard the ship sat just to his right. A long oar handle jutted out of the inside of the hull, at chest height to the lone, sullen Orc who sat chained to his place. The only difference between this bench and all the others is that this one had a single open space.
"You there!" Rulger thundered to the slave. "Meet our guest. He'll be joinin' us for some of our journey, so make certain to be hospitable, swine." The Orc only sagged his shoulders further to the floor, dully staring ahead.
"I wouldn't count on too much conversatin', they ain't much for talking. Are ye?" Rulger eyed a scrawny Orc, his knee sticking just out past the bench. Rulger delivered a hard kick.
Killian ignored the act. He felt as if he was in a trance.
"What if someone is to relieve themself?" He asked meekly.
Rulger raised an eyebrow. Motioning under one of the benches, he nudged a metal pot with the toe of his boot.
Suddenly, Killian's focus snapped as quick as lightning. Taking in the entire situation at once, it was all too much to bear, and he reared first on his Dwarven guide.
"Just who in sun's grace do you take me for?" He seethed, each word dripping with venom as his apprehension turned to anger. Thorian winced, but the Dwarf only cocked his eyebrow higher. "I," Killian continued, "am a citizen of the Dracticos Isles. Nowhere in the lands of the Fyearn, nor in the realms of man, Dwarf, or Proven alike, would a man be expected to bunk alongside the Unproven races. You're a damned crackpot."
"Yer the hitchhiker here, Durrik." The Dwarf retorted, "Leave as ye please."
"Count on it." Killian spat, spinning on his heel to make for the stairs. With each step, Thorian grew more and more anxious, until he could no longer take it.
"Please wait! I'm sure we can make some other arrangements!" He begged. "Please, Uncle Killy-"
Killian wheeled around like a rabid dog, his face contorted with rage.
"You've some damned nerve, tricking me into something like this. Over eighteen roats in your miserable life and what have you to show for it? A lackey to slavers." He shook his head. "If Aldred had lived to see this day, he'd be ashamed of what you've become."
Thorian reeled back, aghast. Silence deafened the room so immensely one could hear every heavy breath, creaking groan, and rattling chain. Stone-faced, Killian turned his back on his nephew.
And then the ship began to move.
With a lunge Killian latched himself onto the railing at the bottom of the stairs, Rulger barked a harsh laugh.
"Looks as ya missed yer chance, less ya fancy a swim?" He mocked, passing beside Killian and up the stairwell. "Otherwise, I suggest taking the bench like a good lad."
Killian's face blanched with fear as the might of a lion dwindled to the meekness of a mouse. His grip tightened on the railing with every rock of the ship. It was hard to catch his breath.
Thorian made his way over to Killian, aiding his uncle to his feet and over to the seat that had been offered him. Thorian knew he would put up little resistance - he had been made docile for the time being - though Kllian refused to meet his eye.
"You shouldn't be needed to row for some time, and you won't be in bad company…" Thorian comforted lamely. "I'll be down to pass out rations and bring you something decent."
Killian stared daggers at him, and it wasn't long before Thorian grew uncomfortable enough to flee back to the stairs, leaving his uncle to the pit of Orcs in which he'd been thrust. It took a few moments for the heat of Killian's anger to burn out, but once it had, the fear and uncertainty that had replaced it had made him wish Thorian had never retreated to the upper decks. Seconds creeped on to minutes, and gradually, Killian's nerves had eased. Every now and again the vessel would sway over the crest of a wave, but the darkness of the slave deck combined with the stark silence pushed weariness above anxiety. He could not tell when the minutes turned to hours as he sat alone in thought, or when his eyelids began to get heavy, or when he rested his head upon the raised oar. He could, however, tell immediately when a hand roughly twice the size of his own was laid upon his shoulder.
He awoke and recoiled in an instant, nearly throwing himself off the bench as he jumped to his feet.
"Don't ever think to lay your hands on me again, you boar." He snarled into the darkness. There was a shifting and low rumble, before the darkness replied.
"Shuldore" Was the low, guttural response.
"Not my shoulder or a place else!" Killian corrected, squinting in order to make out the speaker as best he could.
"No shoulder. Shuldore. Is my apologies. I did not mean to frighten."
At first, Killian was taken aback by the strangeness of the interaction, for it had just occurred to him that he was conversing with an Orc. It had been rare in his lifetime to even catch a glimpse of one of the humanoid creatures from afar, and had been told that many only spoke in their native tongue, if they hadn't had their tongues cut out. Each word spoken was harsh and guttural; it was clear that the voice hadn't been used in a long time.
"I did not want to see you hurt."
Killian scoffed, analyzing whether or not he had been threatened.
"I don't think there's much of a chance of injuring myself in resting, unless you were to have a hand in it."
There was a grunt and tinkling of chains in reply,. Killian could dimly make out the outline of the Orc, who was raising and lowering his arm in a descriptive fashion.
"We pass island, big waves rock boat. Some hit oar." He grasped the latched oar where Killian had been resting his head as if to make a point.
Killian's irritation cooled the more he thought about the logic of what was being said, though he was too temperamental to admit it.
"It is not safest on floor, either." Spoke the Orc, patting a large palm on the bench beside him.
Killian was about to protest yet again to being sat under such conditions, but the ship reacted as if on cue, giving a violent lurch. Anxiously, Killian scrambled back to his seat beside the prisoner. Silence engulfed the space once more, but was more deafening now that words had been exchanged.
"I am Killian." Killian offered at last. "Of the Nine Strings." The Orc hummed over the information.
"Sharroc Al-Grabog," spoke the Orc, "Well met."