Salt And Souls

Hours later Albin finally arrives and he is just how Ceres remembers the elf slaver as he swans across the pub like he owns the place. An arrogant smug look sits plastered across his face as he heads straight for the bar and its barkeep.

The elf is about a hundred and ninety centimetres tall with shoulder length black hair, which looks greasy. He also has a stubble beard from three days worth of growth that lines has jaw in addition to his hazel eyes, which sparkle sadistically.

Ceres stares at the slaver feeling her already substantial trough of hatred boil like a cauldron over roaring coals. But she knows better than to let her temper get the better of her. That is why she instead sips at her third flagon of ale.

She made sure to stretch the ale out so not to become intoxicated. The captain of the Good Grace expects that the barkeep had been intending to get her into a thoroughly sozzled state. No doubt that is part of the agreement with Albin, but Ceres doesn’t care. She isn’t playing by his rules. She is facing him on her terms, sober.  Ignoring the fact that this is almost certainly a trap that has been set to ensnare any unsuspecting innocent who might happen to wander in here searching for work but so desperate for coin they take the option given to them.

It had humoured Ceres to see the barkeep have to waddle over from behind his bar to keep her stocked up on ale. More than once Ceres had been forced to suppress a laugh or two because of that. And all because he’s too cheap to employ a barmaid, Ceres thinks as she watches Albin chat to the barkeep. She can’t hear the words that are being exchanged. But it seems the barkeep is very capable of keeping his tone hushed now. Ceres shakes her head while continuing to watch the two men converse.

Suddenly the barkeep points in the direction of Ceres and the table she had claimed hours earlier as her own. It’s a table which she made sure to divert other patrons away from, so she could keep to herself and drink alone. The last thing she had wanted was company and the patrons, the very few who had tried to impose, were quick to comply, and that had pleased the Captain of the Good Grace.

Albin turns following the direction of the barkeeps chubby finger that is fully extended until he finds nothing but an empty table. The barkeep blinks in shock to find that Ceres who had been there moments ago, waiting for Albin Torkester, has now completely vanished. He had been sure she was a candidate, even if she hadn’t overindulged in the ale like all those before her had when he’d put a similar offer to them. Then the shock gives way to fear as he wonders what Albin might do to repay the obvious failure. The barkeep gulps loudly, though he is completely unaware that Ceres is still very much present in the pub. In fact, she has simply moved and joined a group of very drunk dock workers as they chat and cheer raucously. They haven’t really noticed her presence and if they did they would pay no mind to her seeing as they can barely see straight after the amount of alcohol they have consumed.

There was no way Ceres was about to willing drop herself in a trap and risk Albin recognising her. At least not until she is ready for him to, that is. Doing so would have been foolish and why she is instead continuing to sip at her flagon while keeping low and hidden among the dock workers who begin to chant and sing in a key that doesn’t actually exist.

At any other time the attempts at singing would grate so painfully on Ceres that she would need to extract herself, but right now she has to grin and bear it. Though, she makes sure to keep a watchful eye on the men that entered The Golden Firepit in the moments prior to and proceeding Albin’s arrival. They are without doubt thugs under his employ. Though, she doubts any of them paid any attention to her presence upon their arrival. She had drawn no attention to herself so would have passed unnoticed.

Albin rages at the barkeep, though he makes sure to keep his voice at a level which goes cannot be heard by the other patrons. Ceres can imagine what the slaver is saying and the threats he is making clear will soon be the norm for the barkeep if he fails to aid in the provision of more souls. That’s why Ceres can completely understand why the barkeep has a look on his face that can only be described as abject terror, while his eyes bulge out of his wide head and his jaw hangs agape. He’s even shaking vigorously and has his hands held up to show he means no harm and possess no threat. Albin will know that but it won’t stop him from continuing the torment.

His descriptions of brutality soon become too much for the barkeep and so the man begins to plead, his hands pressed together as though he is begging forgiveness from a deity. The problem is what he is really doing is feeding Albin’s sadist tendencies. That is why a wide smile is plastered across his face and why he continues to taunt and detail to the terrified man who he has in his clutches. Albin’s hands gripping tightly on the fabric of the barkeeps dark ale stained tunic.

In complete contrast Albin’s black boots shine and are complemented by his black slacks and dark grey tunic. There isn’t a mark or stain on any of the slavers clothes. He is also armed as a cutlass hangs off his belt. Most likely the presence of the weapon is to dissuade anyone from wanting to pick a fight with the elf. Not that Ceres believes most would try without reason, especially if they knew Albin and his penchant for torture.

Unfortunately, as Ceres watches the exchange, which is muted to her own ears and drowned out by cheers and tuneless chants, she is unaware of the fact that other earlier arriving patrons are also in the employ of Albin. Those supposed patrons, unlike the ones who arrived immediately before and after Albin, did take note of her presence. That is why as the argument between the barkeep and Albin approaches its crescendo a hand grabs Ceres. At first she is sure that it’s some drunken patron getting a bit handsy. However, as she is spun round she quickly discovers how wrong she is.

“Let me go.” Ceres cries as the thug twists her arm painfully.

Her outburst draws the attention of a number of the patrons, but not Albin. He’s still busy with the barkeep who cannot get any paler than his complexion now is because of the graphic explanations that Albin has promised will be done to him and over the period which they will occur.

Several of the patrons think about intervening in Ceres’ apprehension but a couple other thugs dissuade them with shakes of their heads and showcases of their muscles. Though, such events do nothing to stop Ceres from proclaiming, “Get off me.”

The Captain of the Good Grace refuses to accept defeat and so continues to thrash in hopes is breaking free. However, her attempts prove futile as the thugs’ grip is too strong and made worse by the fact that Ceres has been awake for countless hours, during which she has spent much of that time on her feet and making sure her ship didn’t sink in the storm that hit them before they reached Baron. However, Ceres can’t be sure that even well rested she would serve much better against the brute and so attempts to kick a chair under his feet. The attempt half works and sees the thug stumble forward, releasing his grip on her arms just long enough for her to try and make a getaway. Unfortunately, another thug is close behind and manages to reach for Ceres and grab hold of her before wrenching her backward.

Ceres curses as she is nearly torn off her feet. However, the thug stabilises her and then with a much firmer and tighter hold on the Captain of the Good Grace, lifts her off the floor and carries her forward.

Albin is aware of the kafuffle now and turns his attention in the direction of the noise just in time for Ceres to be hauled in front of him. He smiles as his sparkling hazel eyes come to rest upon her.

“Is this the one?” Albin asks with a harsh tone of voice.

“Y-yes.” The barkeep confirms while frantically nodding his head. He hopes this will redeem him in the eyes of Albin as he doesn’t fancy being castrated and then flayed alive.

Those were only a couple of the long list of unspeakably evil acts that the elf said he would do to the barkeep. But those had stuck in his mind the most.

However, the barkeep isn’t that lucky as Albin quickly pulls a thin dagger from his waistband and then slits the man’s throat. The barkeeps hands almost immediately shoot up to his throat trying to stem the rapid near waterfall of blood that pumps ferociously from the wound inflicted to his neck. But it’s already too late, though that doesn’t stop a number of the patrons from exclaiming and murmuring amongst themselves. They’re kept at bay by the rest of Albin’s thugs, though all of them are in shock because of the brutality of the act that they have just witnessed before their very eyes. Drunk or not the barbarity of the display is enough to sober any man and it does sober many of them.

“Take her.” Albin then says with a sneer while cleaning the thin blade of his short dagger. He doesn’t want the blade sullied by the filth of the soon to be dead barkeep, who has now sunk to the floor as the last of his blood gurgles from his mouth and neck wound. A wide dark puddle is still spreading in the moments before Ceres is rendered unconscious by a solid strike to the back of her head by the thug restraining her. The world goes black for Ceres who didn’t have time to react before the assault.

Albin finds the woman, who is an elf like himself, familiar. Though, he cannot place why and where he thinks he may have seen her before. Not that it matters as there will be plenty of time for them to become acquainted, if they aren’t so already.