Watching Altair move was like watching a newborn foal trying to figure out how to use its legs. Altair was large and tall, taller than all of the men in his crew, not as tall as the King but tall. His spindly legs that had once held a dancer's confidence trembled uncontrollably, as if he had been rendered into an old man with severe gout. Cygnus didn't proffer any assistance - though he was tempted to, in order to emphasize how weak Altair was. In its own way, it was just as satisfying to watch the slave struggle to even move. But the satisfaction was half-hearted, because of the price he had to pay to have it.<br/><br/><i>Some would question if it was worth it to mar your pretty face, </i>Cygnus thought.<i>They would be right to question. Long legs, long hair. If you weren't so tall someone might mistake you for a pretty maid. But even your beauty wouldn't save you from your stupidity. Is it a cruel jape that I regret my actions? Ha, ha... it wasn't as if I knew that the brutality I've treated Altair with would require atonement from me. Mors taken as a sacrifice. I can only hope that, as a sacrifice, he is given a seat at the Drowned Shore. Where he will get drunk on seaweed mead and feast on salt bread. I wonder if you are satisfied with your pirate, my gods? Mors was a good man in life, and he will be in death. He will man any ship well.</i><br/><br/>Once they were up on the deck, Cygnus guided him over to the mast of the ship, where he forced Altair to sit. Once Altair was situated where Cygnus wanted him, Cygnus turned away. "Sit. Don't speak. Don't move. If you do, I'll beat you," he threatened. Then he sauntered over to his cabin, entering and closing the door shut behind him. Inside the cabin, Cygnus let out a deep sigh.<br/><br/>The disheartening expressions present on the faces of his men had been more than enough to indicate exactly what they thought of Altair. They looked at the slave like he was infected with the pox - as if he were dangerous and deadly. A far cry from the true threat Altair was. The only threat Altair posed was to himself, if he chose to stay true to his word and deliver himself into the arms of his goddess.<i> At this rate, there will be more than you falling into the sea, Mors. Fear either makes men stupid or strong, and I'm near about to find out who becomes a fearful fool and who becomes a fearful but brave fool. </i>Cygnus moved to his alcove and reached for something he had on his top shelf; an iron shackle, complete with a lock and key.<br/><br/>When he returned to Altair, he clamped the shackle around Altair's left ankle. Wrapped around the mast was a chain, and Cygnus took the chain, using the lock to connect and lock the shackle to the chain; now, Altair was restrained to the mast. The chain allowed for some leeway, of some few feet, but otherwise prevented Altair from much movement. Not unless Cygnus released him. "Scars around your ankles matters naught, because no one will see them. Besides, you have larger ones to worry about."