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[Storage Room aboard a Trading Post Leviathan]

A thumping sound came before the fallen Verito. It was a muffled noise, as if something cushioned the impact of the fall. Whatever it was in the darkness, at the very least it wasn't coming to hurt the small child.

The smoker's voice from before called out to the young kid, "Eat."

The thump came from a small package upon the ground just a foot from Verito. It was a cloth bound object, knotted loosely. As Verito searched it he'd find inside the cloth was a cold metalic tin which contained something that sloshed around inside, and something else that clinked.

"More?" the man asked incrediously. Two heavy steps and there was the feeling that the larger warrior was looming right over Verito in the darkness. His breath came out slowly, and soon the young kid would feel a rough hand on the top of his head. The fingers were gripped tight, palming Verito's skull as though it were just a ball and lifting the spoiled kid up to his feet.

"That's yer daily ration. You want more, you earn it welp!"

Good, the child was getting to the heart of matters. No whining, no begging, no silly attempts to escape right now. Oh, he was sure the kid would the moment he thought he could escape. But for now it was progress.

The man's voice answered Verito, releasing his skull and letting him stand on his own, "Hard Labor or School. It's your choice, but either way we're going to earn what we paid for you back, and you'll earn your keep."

And just one comment. The man grunted. It told him a lot. This kid had some potential, at least in the eyes of his home. As well as what his home was. A land to avoid, a land not to send him on missions to until long after his alliegence had been cemented.

His hand reached out, grasping Verito's shoulder roughly. But unlike his previous manhandling of the child, he seemed to take some care, guiding him rather than hauling him. They were moving slowly, farther away from the light through the doorway that he had come from, and towards whatever lurked in the back of the Leviathan. The man's grip guided Verito around, seemingly winding and turning wildly to weave through whatever was stored in these back rooms. Not a single missed step in the darkness.

The trip continued for a good 5 minutes, unless the child interrupted. There didn't seem to be anything there but more of the pitch black area that seperated this area from any of the others. But the man's grip called for Verito to stop. There was a heavy knocking sound upon hardwood, a grinding noise and a thunk. With a swing on poorly oiled hinges, screaming every inch, daylight flooded in, a large 10' x 10' door having swung out towards Verito's left.

Beyond the blinding light was void, empty air, without stairs or ladder, leading to a fall nearly 40 feet down to the dirt below.

"If you were training... this should be nothing," the man said. WIth the light from the doorway, you could see him now. A hard man indeed, about 7 feet tall, his shoulders and arms looked to be forged of steel and huge as hell. An apron, blackened, covered his chest, a thick leathery thing. His pants were made of a similiar material, and a similiarly blackened appearance. The man's face was rough, wrinkled and leathery. His right eye was false, a silvery spot rather than a human organ. With a scowl on his face his huge tightened on Verito's shoulder, enough to bring some pain to the small child as he pulled the kid away from him.

"Fly or die. Your escort is on the ground," he growled out as he used his grip on Verito to throw him out of the window.

Seriously 40 foot fall, for a ninja stundent it should be an easy drop to land safely from. At least so he thought as the little slave purchase pitched out into space.

A whistle cut in from behind Verito. There, near the shadow of one of the Leviathan's legs stood a woman. 5'6", fairly robust figure. If not for the small lumps which were breasts and her feminine face and hair, one coudl have thought her a man. She wore a man's clothes fairly comfortably. A teal long shirt lashed down at her waist by a wide red sash, loose breeches the color of the open skies. She wore no shoes, boots, or sandles, and her feet looked a tough gnarled mess, calloused and oversized.

The woman strode forward, her brown hair combed back by her fingers, slicking it behind her ears and out of the way. "You the kid? Come on, class is this way," she said, already starting to walk off East.

((To the Academy Leviathan))