Carlos
Aleks stirred a bit, managing to open his eyes a touch.
*My body is so heavy... Where am I?*
He attempted to move his arms, but he found that they were glued to the ground. Every muscle in his body ached, throbbing in sync, imprisoning him in the fetal position he'd been in. Casting a quick glance down at himself, he found that someone had dressed him in fine silks, a soft white to compliment his ghastly features; this person, the one who had taken him, obviously didn't want him to remember any of the transportation process. Guards shifted around, and as he took in his surroundings, he realized he was trapped in a cage. Usually, they were a bit more subtle with this, but not all lords had the same preferences. So dearly did he wish to speak, yet he feared repercussions for that very thing.
Jeremy
Vhekraul Marikstaed
Whylderholm Deposit Centre

"Careful! Careful 'dare men. That's precious focking cargo right there that is" Second Enforcer Marikstaed waved his crossbow at his men in a rather convincing matter. "If so much as a scratch is left on this skinny fock's hairless focking testicle, Ill have your cocks on a string around me neck for it yeah!" This was hardly a bluff, Vhekraul had very special commands from a bookmaster representing Mstr. K Whylder about this very specific cargo load. He had not a clue why he was worth so much coin, but he wanted to know less than he did.

"Seer" One of the men handling Aleks addressed Marikstaed "Seer, he's too weak, if we try carrying him, we could risk breaking his frail southern arms"

Marikstaed furled his brow in consideration "Yes, Yes, let him wait on the caravan side for a while more, let the drugs let off" Marikstaed never allowed himself any thought on matters like these, but any logic to what Kharlyle would want with this man eluded him. The men serving under his command just nodded after receiving the order.

"Seer, even when he's well, I think it'd be best not to touch the southerner... We could still hurt, *Just look at him*" Marikstaed knew exactly why the men didn't want to handle this strange silk laden boy, they all held a mutual distrust, a deep off-putting feeling at the entire circumstance.

"Well, just put him up in the cage and have you six lot carry alright, and don't focking let it fall, Gods be fucked you right if you do" Marikstaed lost his intimidation, his edge in this boy's presence. He wanted him away.
Carlos
Aleks quietly sat up, the buzz of conversation making his head spin; were men unable to keep their voices lowered? Or was that simply something only *He* Was capable of doing? The only words he could catch were ones along the lines of 'frail' and 'fragile'. They were talking about him, certainly. No other man in the room, as far as he could see, would be described with such words.
"Um... Sirs?," He quietly murmured, "What would you like me to do?," Ever the servant, he bowed his head and awaited a command, a waterfall of pristine hair obscuring his effeminate features. It was like a veil placed on a bride; he was not to be married, of course, for nobody could marry such a miserable slave. No rational person would *Want* Such a boy, lord or not. Thoughts like that had always tormented him, but in the same vein, they allowed him to drift away from the matter at hand.
"I am... Aleksandr Skagerlly, gift of the Skagerlly house," He wearily began to recite, the drugs still clouding his thoughts.