The day is hot, and it's only an hour past dawn. Already the red sun is baking the rocky ground around the ziggurat of Tyr. For most in the city, this is a time to have a light meal and start the day's activities. But the slaves working on the great ziggurat, are already hard at work, and have been for some time.
The life of a slave isn't easy at the best of times, and this is hardly that. Since King Kalak, sorcerer-king of Tyr, declared that his ziggurat would be completed in time for a celebration of his reign at the end of the month, the local templars, guards, and overseers have been working the slaves nearly to death. And no one is working harder than the crews forced to carry bricks and stones to the top of the ziggurat. For with the structure nearly completed, most of the building materials must be dragged to a staggering height.
A winch has been set up to drag some of the larger stone blocks upwards. But that has proven too slow to meet Kalak's timetable. Now two, three, even four blocks are moved up the stairs at a time. The first can use the winch, but the others have to be pushed or pulled up with pure brute force.
One unfortunate work crew waits at the bottom of the stairway for another block to start up its way. They can only look with envy as they see that block will be winched up. Somehow their work crew never seems to be that fortunate. As now, they always have to go up the hard way. Still, they enjoy the chance to rest this delay gives them, even if it is only for a few moments. Such moments have been harder and harder to come by in recent weeks.
The backbone of the group is a half-giant named Pavek. Towering above those around him, he looks as if he could single-handedly drag one of the stones to the top '€" and for some smaller stones he has. Around Pavek are a mix of slaves, three men, a couple of muls, a dwarf, an elf, and an aarakocra. All are dressed in loincloths, save one of the muls who wears a tunic and, more notably, carries a whip. It is this mul, an overseer named Kaarg, who breaks their reprieve.
'œMove it, move it,' he shouts, cracking his whip at the aarakocra. 'œThere'll be time to rest when you're dead '€" which will be a lot sooner if you don't get back to work!' He shoves the elf and the oldest of the men towards the front of the block where some ropes tied to the block lie. 'œWe're not going to lose any time just '˜cause you're feeling tired. I want to see this block up top where it belongs, not here as a bed for some lazy-assed slaves!'
This is their third block today, and a seemingly endless pile remains to be moved. But what choice do they have? Disobedience is punished harshly. And escape remains only a dream.
