Jas 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 Jas 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, Jas 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. Sohow, 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 imdiately. 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 Jas could process what was happening-
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
Five tis the whip lashed out, carving bloody trails in the back of the already injured boy, thoroughly tattering his shirt. That stuck out to Jas, and he found it odd that it did. Ah,, he thought, he won't be getting a replacent 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 ti.
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. Jas shivered.
"AND IF ANY O' YOU TRY SNEAKING OFF AGAIN YER ALL GETTIN' THE LASH UNTIL I GET TIRED OF IT AND TRUST I DON'T GET TIRED EASY. NOW GET BACK TO WORK!" The whip-using slaver concluded and then stord off back towards where the slavers had their own tents and campfire.
Shellshocked, Jas 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.
Jas 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. Jas turned around and there was Coin with his magic bag, about to hand out the mining tools. Coin gestured Jas closer and Jas walked over, trembling.
"Y-y-yes?" Jas stamred.
"Oh calm down." Coin said. "You'll have plenty of ti for the mine later. You didn't forget that favor you owe , did you?"
Jas, now rembering 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
Jas 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 humd, "it's pretty bad, but good enough for practicing. Just a tad light. Next ti 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 Jas. "Off to the mine with you, you all better not slack after last night's stunt." With a aningful look, he pulled a pickaxe and shovel from his bag, handed them to Jas, and then he also turned and left.
Jas 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. Jas rushed to his side and crouched down next to him.
"Hey, hey! Are you alright?" he asked.
The new boy rely groaned in pain. The grey-eyed boy paused his picking and strolled over to Jas 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-" Jas 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?!" Jas stood up and shouted. The rest of the slave boys stopped working and turned to watch the argunt.
"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 co 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 sa, 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.
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