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They used to call him Necromancer, the Malkuth Empire's most notorious soldier, the Emperor's right hand, and more besides. Not that any of those titles hold meaning anymore. His country had fallen, his emperor is dead, and Kimlascan technology had taken his own powers away from him. Jade supposes he's lucky to still be alive. Freedom is something that can be regained; death is the end.
He's quiet (docile, almost) during the trip through the desert. He's just as quiet as they walk through the sprawling manor that will be his new prison, but his eyes are watchful, carefully tracking their path through the golden halls.
The Kimlascan dignitaries lead him to a man he recognizes from military reports: Zakrian, one of Kimlasca's more notable suppliers during the war. Jade tries to recall what he knows of the man, but his knowledge is regrettably limited: Kitaryl, some sort of young genius and - judging by the splendor around them - a man who quite enjoys his luxuries.
The dignitaries talk, sweet words of thanks for Zakrian's aid during the war, using many words to say very little. Jade listens in on the conversation, but most of his attention is on Zakrian. He doesn't bother to conceal the way he's studying the man, a scrutiny in his red eyes quite at odds with his status as a slave.
"As a token of our appreciation," one of the dignitaries is saying, "We would like to present you with this slave. He was one of Kimlasca's greatest enemies, but he is quite harmless now, and quite the trophy to possess."
Hands push at him, and Jade sinks to one knee, seeing little point in resisting. He probably doesn't look like much, with his hands chained behind his back and dressed in nothing but a plain white tunic, but at least the Kimlascans had taken pains to make him presentable. He is well-groomed, his skin unblemished, all the ugliness of war wiped away under the skilled hands of Kimlascan healers.
He's quiet (docile, almost) during the trip through the desert. He's just as quiet as they walk through the sprawling manor that will be his new prison, but his eyes are watchful, carefully tracking their path through the golden halls.
The Kimlascan dignitaries lead him to a man he recognizes from military reports: Zakrian, one of Kimlasca's more notable suppliers during the war. Jade tries to recall what he knows of the man, but his knowledge is regrettably limited: Kitaryl, some sort of young genius and - judging by the splendor around them - a man who quite enjoys his luxuries.
The dignitaries talk, sweet words of thanks for Zakrian's aid during the war, using many words to say very little. Jade listens in on the conversation, but most of his attention is on Zakrian. He doesn't bother to conceal the way he's studying the man, a scrutiny in his red eyes quite at odds with his status as a slave.
"As a token of our appreciation," one of the dignitaries is saying, "We would like to present you with this slave. He was one of Kimlasca's greatest enemies, but he is quite harmless now, and quite the trophy to possess."
Hands push at him, and Jade sinks to one knee, seeing little point in resisting. He probably doesn't look like much, with his hands chained behind his back and dressed in nothing but a plain white tunic, but at least the Kimlascans had taken pains to make him presentable. He is well-groomed, his skin unblemished, all the ugliness of war wiped away under the skilled hands of Kimlascan healers.
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"Zakrian, then." He smiles, getting to his feet. "I'm Jade Curtiss."
It is not often that he introduces himself without his own titles, but Zakrian is correct when he says that they mean nothing. Nowhere to go but forward, as they say, and Jade intends to do exactly that.