Whatever goddess Altair prayed to, she must've been deaf or Death. He knew the names of many goddesses... Marnya, Lain, Tmetala, and many more. If he were to guess what sort of goddess would allow Altair to suffer so, the sort would be the cruel and bloodthirsty kind. Her loyal servant had been rendered into a living waterfall of blood, and still, she allowed him to suffer. Or perhaps he had been deemed such a punishment by his goddess, as result of some sin. The slave was limp in his grip, droopy as a old whore's tit, and he still bled. It would not surprise him if Altair joined his goddess soon, like he had promised. However, it was a surprise when Altair reached his hand up and marked one of his men's faces in blood, and rambled in Dusanian.<br/><br/>By the looks on the face of his crew, he could tell that the action had spooked many. Of course, all of the men on his ship were of the faith of the sea gods. Hydren, Marimas, and Osynus. There was something to fear in Altair, now that he had been whipped. In the span of a mere few minutes, he had transformed from a lustrous and haughty slave to a gaunt and ghostly spirit. If there was something that a man feared, it was the unholy. Bathed in his blood and trembling like a tree in wind, he resembled a forest crone that sacrificed her children to cold gods.<br/><br/>Using Altair's golden hair much like a rope, he dragged him over to the stairs that would lead to the decks below. The longer that Altair could be seen, the more terror would snake its way into the hearts of his crew. If the slave was out of sight, he would be out of mind. Fearful men did not tend to ships half as well as a brave man. Each tug had left a scarlet trail in its wake, as if someone had washed the deck with blood. Later, he would need to clean the blood, or the memory of Altair would remain.<br/><br/>He gently half carried and guided Altair down the stairs to below decks, staining his clothing sanguine. None of his men dared to accompany him down below. "... You were beautifully bold, slave. Too bold. Now you know the flavour of the whip. Rest assured that you will not be ruined. I will have my gold's worth. Your scarred body may earn you more, depending on if I choose to not sell you to my benefactor. Even then, few will get to see your body. Weiss is a cold place indeed, and if you fashioned yourself in Dusanian attire, you would become frozen as ice," Cygnus muttered. Over to the cage he moved, creaking open the door that had not been locked. Once inside of the cage he laid Altair down on his stomach, on one of the brig's three benches, and walked out of the cage.<br/><br/>In a minute he returned with strips of cloth, ragged but clean enough to dress wounds with. With a push Cygnus forced Altair to sit up. "Sit up, slave. It's proper etiquette. I need to bandage you, unless you wish to hasten your journey to your goddess' tits." He wrapped Altair's wounds with the cloth, making sure that he did not bind the slave too tightly. Then once he was bandaged, Cygnus laid him back down onto his stomach. "... Does it pain you, slave? Knowing that you could've simply avoided it all.. if only you had swallowed your fragile pride."