His hands were slippery, and as he lunged for it, Visilias knew he wasn’t going to make it in time. He was right. The dish shattered into tiny bits as it came into contact with the expensive wooden floor.
“Why you so useless boy? My regret for purchasing you grows by the day,” roared Anseln.
“My apologies sir, I can assure you it won’t happen again,” stammered a red-faced Visilias.
“Get back to work before I whip you” Anseln uttered in disgust.
Visilias sighed and started sweeping up the remains of his mistake. Distracted, he misplaced his foot and a piece of the porcelain dish angrily punished him.
“Now you’re getting blood all over the house, just get out of my sight you good for nothing..”
Visilias was halfway out the door with his jacket slung over his shoulder and his shoes in his hands before Anseln could complete the long string of curse words that regularly followed.
_____________________________________________________________________
“Git yer chicken here, just killed, fresh from the farm!”
“We’ve got the best herbs in town, they’ll cure any disease!”
Visilias ignored the street vendors and their fibs. He’d had the fortune of trying out one of the herbs from the vendors, and after a long night of emptying his stomach into a nearby bucket along with his original fever, he sure wasn’t venturing near one of them again. In leaving the house he had traded his breakfast for a rare bout of freedom, but it was a most welcome sacrifice. Visilias walked on mindlessly, ducking under a fruit cart and stealing apples when the merchant wasn’t looking. By the time the poor woman had noticed, Visilias had already melded into the ever growing crowd. Visilias let his thoughts drift and his mind guide him, and just as he was beginning to enjoy his emancipation, he was abruptly brought back to reality.
“Hey lookit, it’s the slaveboy!” Thatcher said with a smirk.
Thatcher’s crew jeered at Visilias, but he walked on, ignoring their jests as he normally did, wanting to avoid trouble. Thatcher thought differently.
“What’s that your’re holding in your hand slaveboy? Looks to be some food! Comon over here and bring it to me before I make you.”
Normally Visilias would have walked off. Normally. But today was different. His foot was smarting, he was tired of Thatcher’s tyrannical rule over him, and he had no desire to part with his breakfast.
“No.”
Thatcher shifted uncomfortably. “What did you say slaveboy? How bout you say it to my face?”
“You heard me Thatcher, I said no, I’m keeping my apple and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Jeers from Thatcher’s gang immediately exploded, the majority of them calling for a fight.
“You asked for it Visilias, and now you’re going to git it” snarled Thatcher, angered by Visilias’ defiant response.
Visilias was never a fighter. A wiry male of age seventeen, his brown eyes, yellow skin, and jet black hair had always set him apart from his peers. He had a rugged but handsome face, and his height was considered to be average amongst his age group. He had been purchased as a servant from the northern parts of Elduin and had moved with Anseln to Ochyro, a small city located in western Elduin. Visilias had always been quick with his hands and feet and was renowned by many angry merchants for his agility, but he seemed hardly a fair match for Thatcher, who at Visilias’ age, had the body of a full grown man.
